


Fictober 2019

by NotWhoYouThink131



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Absolute Mess, All stories in each fandom is hypothetically the same universe, Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Implied Past Relationships, Killing a Dragon, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, People Watching, Rite of Tranquility, Snowball Fight, Wedding Fluff, death by hanging, torture I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:03:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 25,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20855975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotWhoYouThink131/pseuds/NotWhoYouThink131
Summary: I can't draw, so I'm making fics instead of artwork for Inktober.





	1. Day 1: Rings (Red Dead Redemption)

**Author's Note:**

> So I write all my stories on Google Docs, and sometimes, when I paste from Google Doc to here, everything looks perfectly fine, but then once I publish it, the text gets all glitchy and stuff, so if that happens, I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do. Just try to read through the shit and have a good time :) Thanks for reading, hope you guys have a wonderful October!

_ We’ve come a long way from two kids robbing each other. We’ve come a long way from having women and children. We’ve come a long way from- _

Dutch pauses. This seems complicated for no reason; What the hell is wrong with him? He writes and rehearses speeches almost every damn day, but he can’t write this one? 

He balls up the paper and throws it in a pile, joining about a dozen more. He could pull his hair out trying to do this.

Start over.

_ From the moment I met you- _

_ _ Start over.

_ This point has not been easy to get to- _

Start over.

_ I- _

_ _ Start over. Start over. Start over.

Finally, exasperated, he throws his pen down and just leans back in his seat. He only has a few more days to figure this out. Shit.

Is Hosea having this much trouble?

A few days later and Dutch has said to hell with it, he’s just going to wing it. Not like what he says today is going to matter anyway. All that matters is Hosea.

A few of the others thought this whole thing was stupid; Of course Bill and Micah, but Arthur and John, too. The same can be said about Grimshaw and Molly. They all think there’s no need for such a formal ceremony- not when Dutch and Hosea have been pretty much married for 20 years already. Lenny and the girls, however, were beyond excited, and Sean and Kieran were just glad to see everyone in a good mood for once, getting off their backs.

The guys spent all morning rearranging the camp at Horseshoe Overlook, lining up chairs and logs to form rows, while the girls made decorations out of batches of wildflowers and twine. While most of their good clothes were left behind in Blackwater, everyone is still trying their best to clean up. Even Trelawny’s here to take part in the festivities.

“What the hell do you mean you didn’t write any vows?” John gasps in disbelief. “Dutch, you can’t be serious. You don’t have anything?”

“I don’t know what to write, John,” Dutch can’t take his eyes off the mirror in front of him; Goddamnit, there is one piece of hair that won’t slick back properly, no matter how hard he tries; it just keeps curling up. “It’s not like I didn’t try; I did, but it all sounds stupid.”

“You can’t just make it up as you go along,” Arthur says from the doorway. “That’s only gonna make it worse.”

“You’re supposed to be with Hosea,” Dutch grunts in mild dissatisfaction.

“He told me to come check on you,” Arthur says. “He’s assuming you’re freaking out… Which you are.”

“I’m not freaking out,” Dutch says. “I’m just nervous, that’s normal.”

“It’s not even a real wedding, Dutch.” Arthur snorts, shaking his head.

“No, but it’s the closest we’re gonna get in our lives,” Dutch says.

Arthur rolls his eyes and leaves. On his way out, he passes Susan. “Help him write somethin’.” He says. “He’s gonna try and wing it.”

“Oh, like hell he is!” Susan gasps, charging into the tent. “Dutch!” She says.

“Susan!” Dutch whines back. She comes up to him and starts fussing over the man, rearranging his tie and getting that piece of hair to stay down. “It’s going to be fine,” He says. “I’ve improvised a lot more than this.”

“It is going to be fine,” Susan says. “Because you’re going to sit here and figure out what you’re going to say.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dutch protests.

“Don’t,” Susan puffs out her cheeks and points at him. “You’re not doing whatever this is today.”

“What are you talking about?” Dutch groans.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Susan says. “You’re doing the thing where you’re going to dig yourself one hell of a hole, and then climb your way out. Wouldn’t it just be easier to not dig the hole in the first place?”

“I have a way of doing things,” Dutch says.

“It’s shitty,” John says.

“We almost ready to go?” Reverend Swanson asks from outside the tent.

“No-” Susan and John start to say together.

“Yes!” Dutch interrupts. There is a beat of silence before Swanson walks away, and the group inside the tent is unsure which person he chose to listen to.

“You’ll feel sorry if you mess this up,” Susan sighs softly, gesturing to John to move before she steps out of the tent. Dutch follows her, extending his arm out to take hers. In place of a parent giving them away, Dutch and Hosea decided to symbolically have their exes do it, simply because the only other logical option was two of the kids they’ve adopted; probably Arthur and John since they were the oldest. Since Bessie is gone, Hosea asked Trelawny to do it, and he agreed to be a part of this moment; Dutch was just grateful for Susan’s willingness to be involved in the interaction because if he had to try to ask Molly to do this, he would have just canceled the whole wedding.

Soft music starts from the front of their hastily made venue. Dutch hears everyone trying to scramble to their seats, and he feels Susan squeeze his arm comfortingly.

Dutch goes down the aisle first. He doesn’t really feel like he’s light and floaty like he’s heard about this walk before; his feet are weighted and clumsy, struggling to not trip over the air. When he finally gets to the front and Susan lets him go to return to her seat, Swanson can see his face is a little pale.

The music shifts to the bridal march, and several people start laughing, including Dutch. Javier chuckles, but keeps playing the music on his guitar. The laughter gets a bit louder, and Dutch turns his head to see what’s so funny, seeing that Mary-Beth and Tilly are coming down the aisle, tossing little flower petals. Lenny- On Hosea’s side of the altar- laughs and rolls his eyes. “You guys better knock it off,” He says.

“Believe it or not,” Tilly snorts. “This wasn’t our idea.”

“It was Jack's,” Mary-Beth says. “Hosea said it was okay.”

“Well ain’t that cute?” Arthur snorts.

“Glad they did that for Hosea, not Dutch,” John whispers to Lenny. “Dutch would’ve thrown a fit if anyone had the impression he was the woman of this relationship.”

The rest of the wedding party- Arthur and Lenny on Hosea’s side, John and Sean on Dutch’s- chuckles at that, but Dutch didn’t laugh. Instead, he squints at John and rolls his eyes. 

Once the girls are back in their seat, Arthur grabs Dutch and turns him so his back is to the rest of the gang. “Don’t be tryna peek now.” He says.

“Ah,” Dutch grunts, pouting as he hears John laugh again. Dutch sees Hosea step up beside him at the altar, but he cannot bring himself to look at him just yet. Trelawny whispers something to Hosea before returning to his seat, and Javier stops playing music and gets in his seat. The absence of the music makes the sound of the wind and bugs and life seem so much louder in Dutch’s ears.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Swanson begins. “This has been a long time coming. This is probably the most unconventional wedding I’ve officiated. But, Hosea and Dutch have always been an unconventional pair.” A few laughs from the crowd. Hosea laughs too; Dutch just tries to relax the stiffness in his shoulders. Dutch feels Hosea’s hand, only a little less clammy than his own, interlock with his fingers. He could literally feel himself relaxing at the contact. “I’m not going to go through all the bible reading and such that normally comes with these ceremonies because God has left this group long ago,” Swanson says, coaxing a few more laughs from the others. “Instead, these two have decided to write their own vows to share today.”

“Dutch didn’t write anything,” Arthur whispers to Lenny. Lenny’s eyes widen and he glances nervously at Dutch.

“Knew we should’ve rehearsed this,” Lenny mutters. “Abigail,” He says a bit louder. “Bring Jack down here, then Hosea will go first.” He glances at Arthur, who nods. Hopefully hearing Hosea’s vows will help Dutch find something to say.

Jack comes down the aisle, holding Abigail’s hand. In his other hand, he’s holding a pillow with the rings on it. While he walks, some of the gang whisper to him, telling him he’s doing a great job. When he gets to the front, Abigail holds him still while Dutch and Hosea take their respective rings. Dutch can see the one Hosea picked for him is gold and shiny.

Picking the ring he would give Hosea was a nightmare, Dutch remembers. Men’s rings are always so plain, and Dutch has been known to give such extravagant gifts. None of the rings he found were good enough for Hosea; nothing symbolizes the years they’ve spent together, everything they’ve been through. He settled on a platinum ring after nearly a month of debating with himself, and even though he regrets the decision, he hopes Hosea likes it.

Hosea locks eyes with Dutch and he can see Hosea’s face start to flush a bit, thinking of where to begin. Emotions have never been a strong suit for either of them, even when they’re alone, which is why the next few minutes are going to be like pulling teeth. “Dutch,” Hosea starts, shifting his eyes to the ground. “When we met, I was nothing more than a rejected actor turned con artist, and I was lost. I wanted to become someone, but I didn’t know how. There’s only so much you can do with no money and acting experience. But then I met you, out in this world alone with nothing but charisma and a taste for revolution. You were an unstoppable force that swept me off my feet.” Hosea smiles and holds up the golden ring. “The night we met, I attempted to rob you while you went and got us drinks. I opened your bag and was surprised to see you had already pickpocketed me before you got up; a wad of cash and my father’s old ring. I’m going to be honest with you, Dutch, I almost shot you when you were heading back to the table.” The gang laughs. Dutch doesn’t hear them through the pounding in his ears, but he laughs too.

“But I didn’t,” Hosea says. “Instead, I just stole back what you stole from me. And a few extra bucks.” He chuckles. “I don’t think you ever noticed. If you did, you never mentioned it. We tell that story once in a while to the gang, and I remember what made me sit down and have a drink with you in the first place. You’ve always drawn people in. Something about you makes you special enough that people want to be a part of your plans, a part of your life. A part of your gang.” He gestures to the gang, still watching them as if they weren't the only people in the world. In Dutch and Hosea’s minds, they were. “You have given us all a home, a purpose, a chance. Some of us more than others.” Hosea continues. “I knew I was queer long before I told anyone. Long before I told you. That’s why I married Bessie in the first place, to cover it up. Even though I was never really attracted to her, I loved her.” He pauses, still looking at Dutch. “She knew I had feelings for you. And she accepted it. She almost told you a few times, just to get it over with, but I stopped her. I wanted to tell you on my own terms. And I did; after she died. I was a wreck, and you came and brought me back to the gang, and you gave me yet another chance. A chance I didn’t want to waste. Bless Bessie’s heart, I told you I loved you before she was cold in the ground.” He chuckles softly. “I was surprised to say the least when you said it back without a thought.”

Hosea stays silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. There is a point here, he knows there is. He has just forgotten what it is. The gang waits patiently, watching to see what he says next. Finally, he takes a breath and holds up the ring.

“I got sidetracked,” He says.

“As usual,” Lenny jokes.

“As usual,” Hosea agrees. “Should always stay on topic during your vows, kids, remember that.” Another round of laughter from the gang. “My point: The first night we met, you stole this ring and I took it back. Today, I give it back to you, and I better not get it back this time.” He takes Dutch’s hand and slides the ring onto his respective finger. A loose fit, but not so loose he has a chance of losing it.

“Dutch,” Swanson says. “Your turn.”

“Right.” Dutch sees Arthur squint at him from the corner of his eye as he looks at the ring in his hands. This ring has no symbolism to it, it’s not even the one that he wanted, but now he has to make do. “We…” Dutch inhales to start again. “I…” He feels his face heating up. Hosea’s cocking his head in confusion, the gang side-eyeing each other to find out what’s going on.

“Don’t find you speechless often, aye?” Sean says. Everyone- mainly Karen and Susan- quickly shush him as the others chuckle. Hosea’s eyebrows curve in an empathetic manner.

“Dutch-” Hosea starts.

“I got it,” Dutch says back, shaking his head. He hears Arthur sigh. “I got it.” He repeats. He looks down at his feet, trying to gather his thoughts. This shouldn’t be this hard. Why is it so hard? “We’ve come a long way from two kids robbing each other.” He starts. “We’ve come a long way from having women and children. We’ve come a long way from having nothing but dreams.” He twirls the ring in his fingers. “This point, however, has not been easy to get to. We’ve gone through so much, both on our own, and together. Losing Bessie and Annabel were two events we couldn’t have prepared for. But we got through them by helping each other. This brought us closer together, finally becoming what we had always joked about being; a curious couple.” He finally feels his chest loosen, and suddenly his mind clears up; he knows exactly what to say. “From the moment I met you, I knew we would do great things together. You said I have the energy to draw people ni, but you definitely have the energy to make them stay.” He gestures to the gang. “We wouldn’t have half these people here today if it weren’t for you. I’d have Bill and Javier, maybe Sean. Strauss and Swanson.”

“Grimshaw and Molly,” Karen says.

“Oh, Molly for sure,” Dutch says. “Susan would have left years ago without Hosea to keep her sane.”

“That’s true,” Grimshaw says. The gang laughs, except Molly. She scowls and sinks into her chair.

“That’d be a pretty pathetic excuse for a gang,” Dutch continues. “Three guns, a loan shark, a priest, and Molly.” He chuckles. “Doubt I’d even be alive right now with that lineup.”

Hosea grins at Dutch, once again ignoring the noise from the gang. There is that smile again, Dutch almost misses it when Bill stands up, telling Dutch to hurry up so they can drink. But when he tells Bill to sit the hell down, he’s almost done, he catches Hosea’s smile and he thinks of a hundred other things to say.

“I love you,” Is all Dutch settles for. He takes Hosea’s hand and puts the ring on him. “This ring has no true symbolic value, other than that fact. There’s nothing special about it, no story behind it, other than I am giving it to you here, right now, in a place I pray God will forgive me for later on. And that’s okay. This doesn’t have to have value yet; if nothing else, the years you’re wearing it will give it enough value to be worthy of you.”

Hosea looks at the ring and smiles; perfect fit. He flexes his fingers and grins. He has so much he wants to say, but there will be a different time for that, now is the time for-

“I doubt any of us have a reason these two can’t be married, or we wouldn’t be here to begin with,” Lenny says. “So let’s just do this ‘You may now kiss the bride’ shit and go get some drinks.”

“Agreed,” Swanson says. “Not by any specific state or jurisdiction, I now pronounce you happily married.”

Dutch and Hosea nearly collide in their attempt as they kiss- one tilting his head down, the other up- but they find the medium between them and kiss. Dutch grabs Hosea’s waist, and at first Hosea doesn’t move his hands, just feels Dutch touching him. He waits a few more seconds before putting his arms around Dutch’s shoulders, finally joining his own kiss. The gang cheers- Sean fires his gun in the air and Uncle and Bill whistle- and the two separate, not hearing any of this.

It’s not until two days later when Hosea tells Dutch he completely winged his vows.


	2. Day 2: Mindless (Dragon Age)

_ He knew, from the moment he developed his magic, that this day would come. He had heard so much about this from the older mages in the tower. He looked forward to this for years, anticipation keeping him awake at night only the last few nights. He knew it had to be soon. Others who got here when he did had already had theirs. He had to be next. The day someone finally came to retrieve him, he was ecstatic, his skin crawling and his stomach full of butterflies. _

_ _ He knew, from the moment he developed his magic, that this day would come. He had heard so much about this from the older mages in the tower. He dreaded this from the moment he laid his eyes on his first one, keeping him awake for years. He knew it was almost his time. Others who did less than him were already gone. He had to be next. The day someone finally came to retrieve him, he was horrified, his skin crawling and his stomach full of burning acid.

_ The room was very big, there were tons of people standing around waiting for him. Some were faces he knew, some weren’t. They all had the same hopeful expression on their faces, even the Templars. They wanted him to get through this. He did, too. He saw Karl, the love of his life, standing behind a group of Templars, beaming. He had the most faith in Anders, and he would not be disappointed tonight. _

_ _ The room was very big, there were tons of people standing around waiting for him. Some were faces he knew, some weren’t. They all had the same hopeless expression on their faces, even his friends. They wanted him to get through this, but it just wasn’t meant to be. He saw Hawke, the love of his life, standing behind a group of Templars, scowling. He had the most faith in Anders, and he had been disappointed.

_ “Are you ready, Anders?” _

_ _ “Yes, Sebastian.” The man had told Hawke he would come for Anders eventually, and here he was.

“Do not say my name.” The Prince snarls.

_ Anders avoids looking at the Templars staring at him closely, absorbing the calculations of his body language. They’ll know if something goes wrong when he returns. He focuses on Karl’s face, the softness in his eyes. _

_ _ Hawke’s eyes are filled with tears, his face already soaked. There was nothing he could do to stop this, and now Anders is responsible for yet another person being hurt by his actions.

“ _ Anything you want to say before this happens?” The Grand Enchanter asks. “Any last words?” _

“No, sir,” Anders says.  _ His hands shake. He knew this would  _ happen. It’s  _ time _ .

“Knight-Captain,” Sebastian takes a step away from the mage, and a Templar takes his place. Another stands behind him.  _ His heart begins pounding. They don’t teach you how to  _ die _ when they teach you to avoid possession. They assume you will always have that knowledge embedded into you, but you don’t. You only know how to  _ do what is right. But it’s not always right to everyone else. He knows that now.

“Anders.”  _ Anders looks at Karl, sweet Karl. Would this be the last time he saw him? What would happen to him after this? _

_ _ _ “Do not speak to him. He must do this alone, Mr.  _ Hawke.” Sebastian says. A Templar grabs Ander’s arms, holding them behind his back. As if he would fight them now. It’s too late to run.  _ He should have run. _

_ _ _ He closes his eyes. If he dies here, he wants to remember the smell of his mother’s hair. Sweet and soft, but never fully clean. When Anders was a young child, her hair was always stuck together with honey or mud, whatever was on Anders’ hands when he touched her.  _ When Anders hugged his mother for the last time, her hair was singed from the fire on his hands. He couldn’t make it go away, but she would not let the Templars take him without a hug. He burned a piece of her hair and was dragged away, sobbing. He wonders if her hair still smells like honey.

“Do it.” Sebastian’s voice is hollow.

_ “See you soon.” Karl smiles. _

_ _ Anders chokes on terrified tears. There is a burning within him, the Templars burning away the lyrium in his veins and pulling him from the Fade. He squeezed his eyes shut more, letting out a low sob, the last noise he heard before the world went black.

_ Watching Anders’ Harrowing was not the worst thing Karl had ever seen. It was, however, the most intense. Anders wasn’t built for this kind of thing, what if he didn’t make it? They’d have no choice. _

_ _ Watching Anders become Tranquil was not the worst thing Hawke had ever seen. It was, however, the hardest. Anders had the potential to be so much more, why couldn’t he have made it? They had no choice.


	3. Day 3: Bait (Red Dead Redemption)

The relationship between Albert Mason and Arthur Morgan is a unique one in a very odd way. Albert is an aspiring wildlife photographer, always in harm’s way, and Arthur is an outlaw, normally the harm. But he isn’t the harm when it’s Albert; he’s saved Albert on multiple occasions from various animals, from wolves to alligators to a bull that didn’t take too kindly to the flash of the camera. Not every mission ended like this, Arthur saving Albert from peril. Some days they got really good shots of safe creatures, like baby birds in a nest or a deer drinking from a stream. The days that didn’t end in life or death decisions were Arthur’s favorites because when Albert wasn’t a reckless fool, he was a good man. A good man that, tonight, wanted to be a reckless fool.

“You’re kidding.” Arthur sighs. “Cougars? We’re dealing with cougars tonight?”

“Now, Mr. Morgan,” Albert starts. In the wagon, he has his camera equipment and a few small crates of his personal belongings, but Arthur also sees, out in the open, a first aid kit. “It shouldn’t get too dangerous now.”

“Why the hell do you have that, then?” Arthur gestures to the kit. Albert sees it and shakes his head. “If we don’t need it, why isn’t it packed away?”

“Well, it  _ shouldn’t  _ get dangerous,” Albert says. “That doesn’t mean it  _ couldn’t _ .”

“Oh hell, Mr. Mason,” Arthur groans. There is a beat of silence before Arthur sighs. “Do you know where a den is or something?”

“Yes,” Albert says. “I know exactly where we’re going.” With Arthur trailing behind him on his own horse, Albert leads him to their adventure, a cave north of Annesburg. At the sight of the cave, Arthur chuckles. He’s been here before. Just a few days ago. He and the gang had some… Errands to run near here. Errands that… Carried over this way.

“Didn’t know there were cougars in these caves,” Arthur says.

“There is and isn’t,” Albert says, looking around warily. “I think this pack travels between two separate dens, or they all get up and leave for long periods of time and come back together. But, if I've been tracking them correctly, then they should be here- Oh my God!” Albert lets out a yelp ad jumps behind Arthur.

Arthur pulls out his gun and gets ready to aim, but doesn’t see anything worth shooting at.

“What the hell?” Arthur whispers.

“You don’t see that?” Albert points to the ground, where Arthur sees blood splattered everywhere. He sees a bloody handprint on a tree nearby and blinks before snorting softly to himself. “The pack is surely here, that looks fresh!” Albert continues.

“It’s not, actually.” Arthur chuckles. “It’s about four days old.”

“How do you know?” Albert still looks around warily, holding his camera tightly.

“Well, for starters, the color of the blood shows it’s dry.” Arthur hums. “So at least a day old. There’s a bit over here-” Here Arthur walks over to a large splatter of blood near the mouth of the cave. “That’s partially washed away, most likely by this part of the cave flooding during rain.”

“It rained three days ago,” Albert says. “But why four days specifically?”

“Well, I was here when this happened, so-”

“You did this?!”

“Well, yes and no,” Arthur chuckles. “I was here, but I didn’t shoot no one in front of the cave. I helped chase ‘em out this way, and my boys took care of the rest.” He gestures to the bloody handprint on the nearby tree. “Bill got shot in the arm, but he’s okay.”

“Oh, my.” Albert looks at the blood and back at Arthur, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Arthur chuckles. “You could use us as the subjects in your next exhibit on rabid creatures.”

“Oh, you’re not rabid, Mr. Morgan,” Albert says. “Violent, but not rabid.” He seems to relax at the knowledge he will likely not become a meal today.

“C’mon.” Arthur digs around in Albert’s bag, pulling out some small bundles of bait. “If there are cougars here, let’s find ‘em and get out.”

“Right.” Albert nods and takes a bundle. They place them near the mouth of the cave, running behind Albert’s wagon. “Now do we just wait?”

“Guess,” Arthur says. He remembers when they were camped near Valentine, the hunting trip with Hosea. They laid down the bait and Hosea wanted to check it not even 5 minutes later. He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. “We should take a nap.” Arthur hums, leaning against the wagon with his hat over his eyes.

“Nap?” Albert gasps. “In front of a cougar den?”

“I mean, unless you wanna sit here for a few hours,” Arthur says. “They aren’t coming to the bait right away. They want to make sure it ain’t a trap.”

“You know,” Albert says. “The fact that animals like them have the instincts and cognitive abilities to discern if something is a trap is so fascinating.”

“Yeah, hey,” Arthur says, tilting his hat up to look at Albert. “Gonna take longer for them to discern anything if you’re talking.”

“Right,” Albert says. “Perhaps the nap is a good idea; keep me quiet.”

“Hm.” Arthur grunts, putting his hat back over his eyes.

“Arthur?”

Arthur opens his eyes and quickly blinks the sleep from them. He pushes his hat back into place and looks up to see Charles standing over him, head cocked in confusion. Arthur looks around, confused himself, when he sees it’s day time and Albert- while his wagon is still here- is nowhere to be seen. “Shit,” Arthur says, rubbing his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” Charles asks.

“Helping a friend.”

“You know there are mountain lions around here, right?”

“That’s what we’re hoping.” Arthur snorts. “Friend takes pictures of animals, wanted this in his collection.”

“Well, I hope he got what he wanted,” Charles says as he helps Arthur to his feet. “Your traps are empty.”

“Shit.” Arthur groans. He looks around. “Where the hell is Albert?”

“Oh, Mr. Morgan! You’re awake!” Albert’s voice comes from the top of the hill, where he’s standing with his camera equipment in hand.

“I am,” Arthur says, wincing as Albert nearly tumbles down the hill in an attempt to get to him. Once Albert makes his way to Arthur, Arthur asks, “Wanna tell me why I ended up sleeping all night?”

“Well, you seemed like you needed the sleep,” Albert says sheepishly. “I got the shot, it was beautiful; a cub!” He pauses. “Are they called cubs? Or are they kittens since it’s a big cat?”

“It’s cubs,” Charles says flatly, looking at Albert with an eyebrow raises.

“Ah,” Albert looks at Charles, noticing him for the first time. “Friend of Mr. Morgan’s, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Arthur hums. “Probably came looking for me when I didn’t come home last night.” He looks at Albert pointedly.

“Right,” Albert says. “Well, my apologies for the late night, thank you for accompanying me. When the prints get made, I’ll make sure you receive a copy.”

“Thanks,” Arthur grunts, still tired, as he gets on his horse. Charles sends one last questioning look to Albery and leads Arthur back to camp.

About 3 weeks later, Arthur receives mail for Tacitus Kilgore from one Albert Mason. When Arthur opens it, he is shocked to see how well the print of the cougar cub came out. Wide eyes mouth covered in food, looking right at the camera. Arthur is astonished by the quality of such a dangerous piece.

Written on the bag in sloppy handwriting is the title of the piece, “Violent, but not rabid.”


	4. Day 4: Freeze (Red Dead Redemption)

_ Chicago is Goddamn cold in January, _ Dutch thinks. _ There is no reason for it to be this cold. _

The bar is crowded, people trying to get warm, but Duch manages to find a booth in the back with no patrons. He calls to the bartender for a scotch and settles into his seat. He hates scotch, but it has a more refined reputation than beer or whiskey, and that’s all he wants. Refinement; reputation. At only 18 years old, you gotta think about these things.

Suddenly, someone sits across from him in the boot, calling for a shot of whiskey, When the man turns around to face Dutch, Dutch nearly gasps out loud. Blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, very handsome. The man blinks at Dutch a few times.

“Shit,” He says, getting up. “I didn’t even see anyone sitting here, my bad, sir-”

“No, no,” Dutch smiles. “Don’t mind me. It’s not like there’s many other seats anyways.”

“It’s the cold,” The blonde says. “People think being drunk will make them warmer.”

“Well, it does,” Dutch chuckles. “For a while.”

“Can’t argue there.” The blonde says. Drinks are placed in front of them at the table, and the blonde man holds out his hand once the barmaid walks away. “Tobias Patterson.” He smiles.

“Dutch Van Der Linde.” Dutch shakes his hand; warm to the touch, almost hot. “Your accent,” Dutch says. “You’re not from around here.”

“Neither are you,” Tobias says. He chuckles. “Mountains a bit east.”

“Town called Blackwater,” Dutch says.

“Never heard of it.” Tobias hums, taking his shot and calling for two more. “Do you drink whiskey, Dutch?”

“I normally don’t,” Dutch says. “But I won’t say no to a drink.”

The two laugh and shots are brought to them. They drink at the same time, but Dutch nearly chokes. Whiskey’s always had a bad effect on him, ever since he was a teen. Tobias didn’t seem to have the same problem, calling for two more shots.

“Ah,” Dutch holds his hands up in passive defeat. “I think I'm good.”

“Thought you don’t say no to a drink?” Tobias’ lip pouts out, and Dutch’s heart skips a beat. This man is… Something else. The handsome feature, puppy eyes, precious little pout…

About six shots later Dutch vomits the first time. He almost had no time to react, but he somehow made it out the back door in time, almost falling into the snow once he stopped vomiting and his head spun. Three shots after that, he threw up again. This time, he did fall, but avoided the mess he made and just laid in the snow.

Tobias, who was relieving himself in the alley, looks over at Dutch and blinks. “Again? So soon?” He zips himself up and turns, picking Dutch up. “Come on, kid.” Tobias takes Dutch back inside and sits him in the booth, sitting across from him. “Can you not handle any drink, or just whiskey?”

“I’m not even that drunk.” Dutch lies with a grumble. “Just hate whiskey.”

“You didn’t have to take the drinks.” Tobias laughs. “I wouldn’t have taken offense.”

“Can't say no to a pretty face like that.” Dutch giggles, hiding his face in his arms on the table.

Tobias pauses, wondering if he really heard correctly. Did Dutch just call him pretty? What in the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Think he’s had enough.” The bartender quips when Tobias tries to buy two more shots at the bar. “I’ll give you one, but he’s done.”

“Fine, whatever.” Tobias rolls his eyes. “Just give me the damn drink.” He snatches the glass and heads back to the table, stopping in his tracks when he sees what Dutch is holding.

“Why is my wallet in your bag?” Dutch’s voice is soft, confused, like a child.

“Oh, Dutch.” Tobias winces. “You dropped it and I didn’t want you to lose it, so I held onto it.”

“But,” Dutch says. “My money's gone.”

“Is it?” Tobias frowns, glancing back towards the bartender. “That’s not good.”

Dutch‘s brow furrows. “Have you been buying us drinks with my money?” His eyes are wide and shiny like glass, and Tobias wonders if Dutch looks like that because he’s going to cry.

“You look like a little boy.” Tobias doesn’t mean offense by the statement, he doesn't even mean to say it out loud, it’s just a fact that needed stated.

“And wh-what’s this?” Dutch holds up Tobias’ wallet and the blonde man winces again. “Says here your name’s Hosea.” He holds up a small card.

“Why are you in my bag, Dutch?” Tobias- Hosea- asks. “Were you looking for something?”

“Your wallet,” Dutch answers honestly.

“And you’re going to get mad at me for stealing from you?” Hosea says, amused.

“I’m not mad,” Dutch goes back to his soft little boy voice, looking down at the table.

“Course not.” Hosea smiles. “Can’t be mad at a pretty little face like this, hm?”

Dutch blinks and giggles to himself as Hosea sits back in his seat across from him. “I can explain what I meant when I said that.”

“No need.” Hosea hums. “Think you’re real pretty, too.” He snorts as Dutch’s face flushes. “Well, ya were, til you started puking everywhere.”

The two of them laugh as Hosea drinks his last shot. “Do you want to get out of here?” He asks.

“And go where?” Dutch hums, propping his head up on the table with his hands. “It’s freezing outside.”

“You’ve had enough to drink.” Hosea chuckles. “You’ll be warm enough for both of us."


	5. Day 5: Build (Red Dead Redemption)

When the Van Der Linde gang learned Abigail was pregnant, more than a few people freaked out. It was no secret that damn near half the gang slept with her regularly, it was a running joke for the boys for as long as they’ve had her- everyone was just taking everyone else’s sloppy seconds. And someone knocked her up. Hard to imagine who; most of the guys didn’t use protection, those that did only did when they felt like it, so there was really a wide range of bastards it could have been. But Abigail pinned it on John, held him accountable, and the rest of the gang- off the hook- just told him to own up to what he did, even though no one really believed he did it.

When Jack was born, John made up his mind about getting a paternity test done. Sure enough, Jack wasn’t his. This only problem with this is the rest of the gang refused to take the test to learn the truth, so Abigail still made John own up.

This is why John left the gang. If the boy ain't his, he ain't going to raise it. So, he waited until everyone was asleep ad snuck past the camp guard, riding off and not planning on coming back.

The morning after John left was very strange. Everyone woke up feeling like something was wrong. The noticed John was gone, of course, but they all assumed he'd be back. Then, at dinner time that night, Javier finally said something.

“Did anyone see John leave? Did he say where he was going?”

“Probably just blowing off steam,” Bill says. “Abigail’s driving him crazy.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Karen scoffs. “Man won’t help take care of his child.”

“The child ain’t even his!” Bill scoffs back. “He shouldn’t be taking care of it!”

“But none of you will own up.” Hosea says, eyebrows raised in amusement. He knows he’s innocent in this case; his well-known preference for men makes him one of the only members of the gang who didn’t sleep with Abigail. “If someone just came forward as jack’s dad, she’d leave John alone and his actual father could help her.”

“What if it’s mine, huh?” Bill says. “Y’all wanna see me try to raise a child? What a joke.”

“The joke here is that she slept with you at all.” Javier snorts.

“Get fucked, wetback-”

“Hey,” Dutch interrupts. “Regardless of who his father is, Jack is family. We should all be taking care of him.”

“If John isn’t back tomorrow morning, we’ll ride into town and looks for him,” Hosea says. “Bill’s probably right, he just needed to get away from everyone.”

Of course, we know he wasn’t in town. When they rode into town to find him, they knew it too.”

“Where would he go?” Arthur asks. “He wouldn’t go do a job on his own, would he?”

“I think…” Hosea trails off, not wanting to assume anything just yet. “We should go back to camp.”

John didn’t come back that day. Or the next. He didn’t come back the next week or 2 months later, either. Abigail was furious when she realized what had happened. She paced around camp, screaming at everybody, ignoring the screaming infant in her arms.

The boys still wouldn’t help her with the baby. Hosea bought diapers and formula (He didn’t want Abigail breastfeeding when she had started drinking again), but it was clear he was not going to be Jack’s father. Jack woke the camp up several times a night, screaming, and the girls took turns changing him and feeding him while Abigail was passed out drunk somewhere.

The boy needed a father. Arthur knew this more than anyone. He was probably the only one in the gang who had had a kid before, he knew what needed to be done. But he wasn’t going to do it. It was John’s job, damnit, and he abandoned it. After what happened to Isaac, he wasn’t getting involved in another kid’s life.

But someone needed to. This kid was going to be an orphan if someone didn’t; Abigail is drinking worse than Bill on most days. The girls can only do so much to support her.

Most of the boys thought Abigail was just being difficult. “She barely takes care of Jack herself,” Bill says over dinner one night. Behind him, Grimshaw is rocking Jack and Abigail is asleep on the table. “Don’t know why she’s so upset about not having a man raise the baby- she ain’t even raising him!”

“It’s more of the emotional part of it,” Hosea says.

“With women, it’s gotta be.” Bill snorts.

Hosea ignores this comment. “John was supposed to take responsibility for Jack, make an honest woman out of her. They were supposed to be a family. And instead, he made the decision that he’d rather leave us than be with her.”

“When you put it that way,” Javier says. “Makes it sound like John’s the bad guy here.”

“Yeah, are you forgetting the most important part of this whole thing?” Bill says. “The baby isn’t his.”

“We do this every time we have this conversation,” Hosea rubs the bridge of his nose. “No one else stepped up, John was her only option until someone else around here takes his place.”

“Not me,” Bill says.

“Not me,” Javier says.

“Not me,” Arthur says.

“Not me,” Dutch says.

“Then we’ll just continue to go in circles,” Hosea huffs, getting up and stomping away.

A few more days went by and Arthur finally made up his mind: He probably wasn’t Jack's father, but Dutch was right, he’s family. Hosea’s right, someone needed to do something to prove to Abigail that she isn’t doing this alone.

Arthur can’t be a father again. He can’t make an honest woman out of Abigail. He can’t do a lot of things, but there are some things he can do.

First, Abigail had to be sober. This was a chore for the girls, but they did it. While they did that, Arthur spent a few days convincing Bill and Javier to take care of Jack for a bit. The two were very reluctant, eventually getting help from Tilly and Mary-Beth when it came to changing Jack, but they worked out a system and even got Dutch involved, making Arthur’s job easier. Now, with Abigail sober and seeing the boys help out, it was time for the cherry on top. Arthur had called in a favor from a woodworking friend of his from two or three camps ago and asked him how much time it would take for a beginner like himself to make a cradle. His friend said it'd take 2 months at the least if Arthur did it, but he’d have it done in a week or so. Arthur refused for the help, saying, “It’s gotta be me.”

It didn’t take two months to finish it, which was a miracle, considering how many times Arthur had to restart a part because he didn’t measure it right or it just didn’t look right. Arthur spent a lot of time away from camp, a lot of late nights trying to get this right, but he got it done in just a few weeks. He loaded the cradle into his wagon and thanked his friend before heading back to camp.

When he got back to camp, it was sunset and dinner had just finished. Hosea’s eyes lit up when he saw the gift in the wagon and he smiled.

“Bill,” Hosea says. “Help Arthur real quick.” With a grumble, Bill got up and went. “Girls, it’s almost feeding time for Jack. Maybe take Abigail somewhere private if she wants to breastfeed him.”

Bill and Arthur waited until Abigail was gone to unload the gift. It was heavy for something that seemed so small, but they got it in Abigail’s tent no problem.

“This is gonna be a bitch to move when we gotta pack up and leave,” Bill grunts.

“It’ll be fine.” Arthur chuckles. “Now go on, you and Javier go find the shirts you want in here.”

“He’s not going to want to put his clothes in here,” Bill says.

“Well, tell him, Dutch said to or something.” Arthur rolls his eyes. “Picked you two for a reason.”

A few minutes later, Javier comes in with a small bundle of clothes. Arthur takes them and lays them in the cradle to make bedding.

“There a reason we can’t just use blankets?” Javier asks.

“Shirts have your smell on ‘em,” Arthur says. “A small Jack is now used to because he’s spent time with you guys. It’ll help him calmer at night.”

“I see,” Javier says.

“She’s coming back,” Bill says, leaning in the tent and handing Arthur a crumpled up flannel. In his other hand is a small red and white checkered bear.

“Keep her out,” Arthur says, trying to get the shirt situated in the cradle. “Just another minute.”

The two nod and leave, and Arthur can hear them talking to Abigail. He quickly gets the bedding situated and places the bear in the cradle just in time for Abigail to open the flap for the tent and see what’s going on in here.

“What…?” Abigail looks at the cradle and then at Arthur. “What’s that?”

“It’s a cradle,” Arthur says. “For the baby.”

“I… I can see that.” Abigail comes closer, looking it over.

“Using some of the guys’ shirts as blankets so Jack has a familiar scent,” Arthur says. “And Dutch had this little thing made out of one of his bandanas.” He gestures to the bear.

“Arthur,” Abigail makes a face. At first, he thinks she’s mad, but then he sees Abigail crying. “Y’all really did this?”

“It’s not John,” Arthur says. “It’s not some fancy wedding and an honest family, but you are family.” He swipes his thumb across her cheek, catching her tears. “You ain’t doing this alone anymore.”

Abigail smiles and turns to the cradle, laying Jack down. At first, he fusses, but he quiets down after a few seconds of struggle, gurgling and falling asleep.

“See?” Arthur smiles. “He loves it.”

“Thank you,” Abigail says. “Really?”

“It’s not much,” Arthur says. “But it’s somethin’, I guess.”

“Does he like it?” Hosea peeks his head in the tent. Behind him, Arthur sees the boys standing nearby, trying to see for themselves.

“Oh, he loves it,” Abigail grins. “He’s already asleep.”

Hosea siles and relays the information to the others, and they all smile, coming a bit closer to see the baby.

Someone in this camp is Jack’s real father. Maybe it’s Arthur, maybe it’s someone else. But honestly, seeing everyone’s faces looking at Jack, knowing everyone came together for this moment, maybe they don’t have to know who. Maybe they can all just care for him, Even if John never comes back, maybe this will be enough.

  
  



	6. Day 6: Husky (Dragon Age)

Cullen’s always wanted a dog, as long as he can remember. The couple that lived next to his parents had two dogs, and they loved him. They loved to jumps on him when he’d come home from the market or chantry services. They’d play with him and his siblings in the street. He liked to reach over the fence and feed them scraps of food he didn’t like from lunch.

He begged his parents for a dog, but they said no. This didn’t really bother Cullen until about a year later when his sister said she wanted a cat, and they had a cat by the end of the week. That cat hated him. It hissed at him and scratched him, ran from the room when he entered. It was like having a sibling that couldn’t stand you, but furrier and somehow more terrifying.

When he became a Templar, he was sure they’d let him have a dog. A loyal companion he can use to keep the mages in line? Of course. But the Chantry didn’t allow animal companions for Templars, so Cullen was once again shut down. He later found out mages were keeping cats in the towers, and Cullen couldn’t help but wonder why people like these little demons better- tolerated them better- than dogs.

When he was in Orlais for the exalted council, he couldn’t believe it. A Ferelden mabari, in need of a home. He couldn’t take him fast enough. A beautiful dog, thick grey fur, wide blue eyes, and the best smile Cullen ever saw on an animal. His name was Lieutenant, and to his dismay, his wife Elana refused to call him anything other than Louis. She says Lieutenant is too long for a dog and only reminds her of his military days, days long behind them once the Inquisition was dissolved.

Lieutenant was such a good dog; he rarely left Cullen’s side most days, following him everywhere Cullen could possibly think of, from the chantry to the market to his old training grounds. Cullen taught him many tricks, and he even learned to detect magic, a behavior Cullen wanted back in his Templar days.

One day, Cullen woke up to see Lieutenant wasn’t next to his bed sleeping. Cullen was concerned at first but just assumed his wife had let him outside. When he went downstairs for breakfast, he was surprised to see Lieutenant laying at his wife’s feet while she made breakfast.

“Well,” Cullen says. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“Yes,” Elena smiles. “He followed me downstairs today and hadn’t left yet.” She leans down and pets the dog’s head, cooing softly. “Louis, what a good boy~!”

It took almost 3 months to figure out why Louis had changed loyalty so quickly. The former Inquisitor realized something had changed, something was off. Something was… Late. They realized Louis did not change his loyalty, he had just expanded it to Cullen expected “Pup”.

Letia Rutherford was born at the end of summer. When Cullen first held her, he understood why Louis never wanted to leave this little girl’s side. He didn’t want to either.

Louis had just about forgotten Cullen and Elena existed by the time Letia was old enough to walk. He’d let her grab onto his fur and use him as support as she toddled all over the house. He started sleeping next to her crib, and even jumped in the bath with her sometimes, much to her parent’s entertainment.

“It’s almost like he only has eyes for her,” Cullen joked to his wife one night, holding Letia in his arms while Louis sat at Cullen’s feet.

“That’s a good thing,”Elena says. “It means he’ll be able to keep her safe when she’s not around us.” She leans down and pets Louis; his tail wags in his sleep.

Cullen thought he would be jealous, seeing his life-long dream be taken by his own child, but he is almost happier now than when Lieutenant was always at his side.

The dog’s name officially became Louis when Letia was two. They’d called him Louis are Letia in hope, it’d be easier to say, and it was. In a rare moment, Cullen had taken Louis outside to give him a bath (He had awful fleas, and Cullen was tired of being bitten by them.) While he did that, he heard the upstairs hall window open and he looks up to see his wife nearly dangling their daughter out the window.

“Elena! What the hell are you doing?” Cullen gasps.

“Shut up!” She calls back down to him. “Listen!”

So he was quiet. And while he was, he could hear a soft chanting, “Louis, Louis, Louis!” Letia was reaching her hands out, trying to reach for her dog, and Cullen was so shocked he didn’t even try to keep Louis from running inside, soaking wet, to get to her.

Something changed when Letia was about 11. Anyone who wasn’t her parents couldn’t come near her without Louis growling at them, eyes narrowed and teeth bared. Cullen thought it was the strangest thing, to see this dog suddenly become aggressive when he had shown no signs of such behavior before.

When Letia was walking home from the lake- only a short walk from home- A stranger came up behind her and attempted to abduct her. Louis made a move to save her but was swiftly kicked away by the assailant. The next few seconds passed very slowly in Letia’s mind, her body heating up at the sight of Louis, injured on the ground beside her, heating up in fear, in anger. In fire.

The explosion of flames from her body singed her clothes and burned her hands, but the attacker ran away. The ground around her was charred and she could smell burning hair. A few feet away from the edge of the scorched Earth lays Louis, trying to get up with an injured front paw. He was breathing like his ribs were injured, too.

Letia made no hesitation in running back home, praying Louis stayed in place so he didn’t hurt himself further. When her parents saw her running up to the house in burned clothes, they knew- as a mage and a former Templar- what had happened.

“Where’s Louis-?” Cullen begins asking.

“The lake!” Letia can’t help herself, she starts sobbing, wailing into her mother’s chest as Elena holds her. “There was a man, and he was going to hurt me, and I-”

“Calm down,” Elena says, petting Letia’s hair. “You’re going to upset yourself further. Breathe.”

The closer Cullen gets to the lake, the louder the whimpers and yowls get. When Cullen gets to the sight of burning grass, he sees Louis panting on his uninjured side. “Hey, buddy.” Cullen coos softly. “You doing okay?” He kneels down and touches Louis’ side. The dog recoils and whimpers loudly, growling softly. “Oh, I know, you’re going to be okay.” He picks Louis up, resisting his cries of pain, and Cullen says softly. “You did a good job. She’s okay, too.”

Mabari’s are quite smart. They understand most human languages and can cognitively interact with their owners. When Cullen says Letia is safe, he feels Louis relax a bit in his arms.

Louise makes a full recovery. He stays by Letia’s side when people come to investigate the fire by the lake. Without the use of Circles of Magi, Letia remains with her family and studies magic with her mother. With the help of Cullen and Louis, Letia becomes a talented battle mage by the time she’s an adult. There are no wars to fight, but when there is, she’ll be ready.

When Letia is old enough to move out, she takes Louis with her. It’s a bittersweet moment, watching their little girl. Who knows what’s out there to harm her. Who knows what will happen to her. But they also know she is independent and fierce and with Louise by her side, she is unstoppable.

Once she moves out, Cullen begins looking for another dog. It’s hard to find another one when he has such high standards from Louis. The other dogs aren't nearly as friendly and loving, and while he does support shelter pets, most of them are more aggressive than he’d hoped.

Garrett Hawke- Elena’s cousin- stops by with his partner Anders every once in a while, and this visit seemed very different.

“Ser Pounce-A-Lot had kittens,” Anders says. “Well, he didn’t have them, Lady Fluffle-Butt did.” He’s holding the cat carrier behind his back, and Cullen’s heart drops.

Cullen wants to say no and turn them away immediately, Garrett and Anders both know his feelings on cats, but the way his wife’s face lights up when Anders pulls 2 kittens out of the carrier quickly silences him.

“Oh, Maker!” Elena squeals. “Cullen, look at them!” Cullen sighs softly. What is it with mages and cats? This is why he thought a dog would be a good Templar companion.

One kitten is black and cream-colored, the other is grey with white on its face and underbelly and the tip of its tail. Both cats are playful and curious about this new location. More importantly, its humans. The black cat nearly climbs Elena’s leg, but when she picks up the kitten to inspect it, they just meow and squirm in her hands. The grey one walks up to Cullen and sits patiently in front of him, staring with large-pupiled eyes.

"Um," Cullen says softly. "Hello?" He pats the couch next to him and is surprised to see the cat attempt to jump up. When the jump fails, Cullen catches her before she can hit the floor, setting her on the couch. The kitten immediately scrambles to get into Cullen's lap, and he lets it out of blind curiosity. A cat had never wanted to be near him before, they could sense something inside of him that angered them, causing them to hiss and scratch. But not this one. This little creature wanted him, and only him; it showed no interest in Elena.

"Oh, Cully." Elena smiles, snuggling the cream-colored kitten. "They love us."

"Oh." Cullen doesn't know what else to say. 

"Do you want them?" Anders asks hopefully.

"Um... Sure?" Cullen says.

"Wonderful!" Anders coos. "You can change their names, of course, but we've named them Ivory and Husky."

"Husky?" Elena giggles.

"Yeah," Anders says. "Because he looks like a dog." He gestures to the kitten curled up in Cullen's lap, purring in its sleep.

"Husky," Elena repeats, giggling to herself.

Cullen chuckles, reaching down and petting the kitten.

The kitten purrs louder.


	7. Day 7: Enchanted (Red Dead Redemption)

Dutch never said no to the idea of dressing up for a con, and Hosea had spent most of his time trying to cater to that desire. He loved seeing Dutch at these big parties almost as much and Dutch liked being there. Something about the way Dutch could light up the entire room just by opening his mouth, it was incredible.

This party was for some guy Hosea was trying to trick out of his money, but he couldn’t do this alone, so he recruited Dutch, Susan, and Arthur to act as his brother and brother’s family. This wasn’t the first job they’ve used this set-up for; it was the easiest way to get Arthur and Dutch into private parties without being suspicious, and Susan was just along for the ride and the illusion of having a normal life.

Hosea stood at one of the bars, waiting for his target to notice him. He could see Arthur awkwardly being fawned over by a group of girls as Susan showed him off. He can also see Dutch, closer to the grand staircase at a second bar, drawing quite a small crowd with some story. Hosea loved watching Dutch tell stories. The way his eyes were bright with passion sent shivers through Hosea.

It was an open secret within the gang that Hosea had feelings for Dutch. No one ever asked him, and they rarely talked to each other about it, but many people just assumed. It’s not like anyone has brought it up to either of them, and Susan and Dutch’s break-up is still fresh, only a couple months ago. But Dutch was prowling for his next fixation, and he would surely find it tonight. Dutch has an effect on people. An effect many of the members of Dutch’s gang agreed was what brought them to this life in the first place.

“Mr. Watson,” A voice sounded behind Hosea.

“Oh, M-Mr. Conoley.” Hosea turns and smiles sheepishly at his target, a middle-aged man with greying hair. “I was just coming to look for you once I f-finished this drink.” He held up his glass. The act he was putting on was a new trick Dutch had suggested. He would act sheepish and bashful, then Dutch would swoop in and take over as a confident ‘Little brother’. Hosea was used to being the confident businessman, not the assistant, but he was willing to risk the job for Dutch’s plan.

“Oh, you that unsure of yourself?” Mr. Conley chuckles. “Need some liquid courage to give me this pitch?”

“Oh, sir,” Hosea chuckles, shaking his head and draining his glass, absently holding it back out to the bartender to pour him more. “I’m not a salesman, I’m just an employee of Mr. Kilgore.”

“I was hoping he would be here tonight, your boss.” Mr. Conoley says.

“Afraid not, sir.” Hosea shakes his head. “He has some f-family business to attend to, I hear his daughter is sick.”

“Shame,” Mr. Conoley says.

Hosea nods. “But m-my brother is here in his stead, he’ll tell you all about Mr. Kilgore’s plan.”

“Your brother works for him too?”

“Yes, sir, as does my nephew.” Hosea gestures to Arthur across the room. “Mr. Kilgore is generous enough to make sure our family is able to support each other.” He waves to get Susan’s attention, who leads Arthur over to the two before leaving to rejoin the party. “Mr. Conoley, this is my nephew Arthur.” He takes another drink and calls across the room, “Aiden! C’mere!”

Dutch blinks from his spot at the bar and looks at Hosea before excusing himself and coming over. “Jesus, Melvin. You can’t shout like that here.”

“Sorry.” Hosea giggles softly. “ Just excited for you to talk to Mr. Conoley. Mr. Conoley, this is my baby brother Aiden. Aiden, this is Michael Conoley.”

“Excuse Melvin here,” Dutch chuckles, putting a hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “He’s probably had a bit much to drink.” He nudges Hosea towards Susan. “Darling, take him outside for some air.” As Susan takes Hosea- still acting resistantly tipsy- outside, Dutch rolls his eyes. “Can’t take him anywhere.” He laughs, patting Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur chuckles softly with him.

“Brothers, right?” Mr. Conoley laughs, shaking Dutch’s outstretched hand.

“C’mon, let’s talk about Mr. Kilgore’s plan.” Dutch hums, letting the other man lead the way. Arthur sees Mr. Conoley smile at Dutch and knows everything is taken care of. The general rule for Dutch’s behavior, the foundation every single one of his plans run on, is that he will have them mesmerized within the first 30 heartbeats of meeting them. If it doesn’t work, they need to make a quick exit. It’s been a foolproof plan since Dutch started conning people, and no one has questioned it beyond that since it works so well.

Outside, Hosea and Susan sit on a bench in the garden, looking at the various lovely colors of the flowers. Susan absently picks at the roses on the bush next to her, trying to avoid the thorns. Hosea stares at the sky, thinking about what to do with the money from this job. They’d each get a pretty big cut, and he’d need to find something to spend it on. Maybe a nice dinner…

“So,” Susan pulls Hosea from his thoughts. “You think Dutch is gonna make this work?”

“I would bet anything that Dutch already has the money.” Hosea laughs.

“What if he asks to meet ‘Mr. Kilgore’ first?” Susan says.

“Simple,” Hosea says. “We go find Trelawny. I heard someone who fits his description is doing side jobs at a bar in town. If he’s really that close by, we won’t have any problems.”

Susan nods. “If you’re sure.” She says. Hosea can tell she wants to say something else, but she keeps her mouth shut, and he goes back to looking at the sky.

Back inside, Dutch is playing Mr. Conoley like a fiddle, seated on Conoley’s desk- Conoley is sitting on the sofa, originally meant to be Dutch’s seat- and laying on his charm thick, describing an oil plan that would make a billionaire blush. The money will be wired to Mr. Kilgore by week’s end, and Melvin will help with all of the finishing papers.

When Dutch leaves the room, he nearly collides with a young woman leaving the room across the hall. “Oh!” He says, instinctively catching the woman before she falls onto her rear. The girl looks up at him, dark red hair and lips and green eyes, her face pretty and littered with freckles. “I’m so sorry, my darling, are you alright?”

“Everything okay?” Mr. Conoley leans out his office door.

“I’m fine,” The woman’s eyes are wide, awestruck, and she blusters softly as Dutch helps her back to her feet and releases her. 

“Hope I didn’t shake you up too bad.” Dutch grins at her. “Please, let me make it up to you. What is your name, Miss?” He takes her hand without waiting for permission, leading her back to the party as Mr. Conoley closes his office door.

“Molly, O’Shea.” The woman says, accepting the kiss to her hand with a surprised giggle.

“Dutch Van Der Linde,” Dutch bows slightly at the kiss and peeks up at her with charming eyes. He feels like his head is swirling slightly, but he waves it away by the time they are back in the party room.

In the garden, Hosea has decided what he’s going to use his cut of the money for. He’s going to take Dutch out to dinner. Surely, Dutch knew he had feelings for the man, that’s why he’s stayed all these years, been through some of the worst and best of his life with Dutch. And honestly, a lovely dinner was only fun with company.

By the end of the night, Hosea and Arthur are tired of the party and retire to their carriage, sending Susan in to collect Dutch. Hosea discussed his plan with her before parting, and she gave her blessing. It was what she wanted to say earlier, but didn’t; she didn’t mind if Dutch and Hosea became an item. They acted like a couple already, surely there wouldn’t be a large transition.

Susan wandered around the party for nearly 20 minutes before seeing him at the top of the grand staircase, talking to some young woman as he leaned against the railing and poured her a glass of wine. The way she was looking at Dutch makes Susan’s face flush with jealousy. Even though Dutch is no longer hers, she still cares for the man and wishes she could be all that was in his life. She thought she was doing so good, encouraging Hosea to take Dutch away from her, but now, seeing this girl, she only wants to take him back all for herself.

But then she sees the way Dutch is looking back at the woman, and her body is covered in sick shivers. Those glossy eyes are something Susan was no stranger to, especially during her involvement with Dutch. He was mesmerized by this woman, almost as much as she was mesmerized by him.

It makes Susan’s stomach lurch. “Dutch!” She calls form the bottom of the stairs.

Dutch blinks, snapping out of his trance. He peeks over the railing at Susan. “Yes, my darling?”

“Don’t darling me,” Susan says blandly. “We’re ready to go.”

“Yes,” Dutch nods, suddenly remembering his purpose here. He turns back to Molly. “I have to go, my family is downstairs waiting.”

“Family?” Molly cocks her head.

“My brother and his wife.” Dutch lies. “I’m afraid we have to part ways here, sweetheart. If I wish to see you again, where should we meet?”

“I doubt we’ll meet again,” Molly shakes her head, subconsciously holding onto Dutch’s sleeve. “My family’s only here for holiday, I’ll be back in Ireland by the end of the season.”

“Then where can I write to?” Dutch gently holds her hand. “I’d hate to lose touch with someone so beautiful and articulate.”

Molly giggles and pulls out a small business card. “Here’s my father’s work address. All our mail goes through there.”

“I will be sure to write,” Dutch leans forward, acting like he’s going to kiss her hand, but changes his mind at the last second and kisses her lips gently before quickly joining Susan at the bottom of the stairs.

When he reaches the bottom, Susan scowls. "And who is she?" She asks.

"Her name is Molly, she's a lovely woman," Dutch says. "Very refined." He side-eyes Susan as they walk. "Why does it matter to you? We're not together anymore."

"No, but-" She stops and sighs. "Don't get attached while on a job, we go over this every time someone catches eyes with you at one of these parties."

"Oh, hush." Dutch laughs. "It's how I met you, isn't it?"

"And aren't I lucky?" Susan grumbles as they get into the carriage.

"Hey," Hosea smiles. "How did it go?"

"We'll have the money soon," Dutch says. Hosea and Arthur both nod and smile.

"Oh, Dutch," Hosea says. "I've been meaning to ask you-"

"Hosea," Susan says. "Maybe not right now."

"What?" Dutch asks, looking between the two.

Hosea blinks. "Oh, um... Nothing." He shrinks in on himself a bit, watching Susan warily. The woman just shakes her head and looks down at her lap.

Hosea notices Dutch's behavior change over the next few weeks, constantly writing and reading letters. He doesn't bother asking Dutch what's going on, and he never speaks to Susan about what's happened, he knows. He knows what it means when he sees Dutch smiling while reading letters, humming to himself as he writes them back. He sees Arthur constantly sending and receiving mail and can't bring himself to actually hear it form Dutch. Instead, he watches Dutch from a distance as he seems to become more and more entranced by whoever he is corresponding with.

He doesn't need to have Dutch. He would love to at least have the satisfaction of knowing whether he feels the same or not, but he is okay with not knowing. Seeing Dutch happy, even if it's not with him, is a gift unto itself. And perhaps whoever this mystery suitor is will suffer the same fate as Susan, forced to pretend their relationship never happened and that their feelings mean nothing as they just continue on with their lives. Maybe then he'll be able to talk to Dutch about his own feelings.

He'll have to see.


	8. Day 8: Frail (Red Dead Redemption)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, but here's day 8 and day 9

Kieran Duffy isn’t a weak man. He’s jumpy and nervous and an idiot sometimes, but he’s not weak. He’s survived on his own ever since he was a kid, rarely depending on others but usually forced to be leashed to them. For a man who tries to stay away from violence, he’s been in 3 separate gangs now and joined the army for a time, learning to fight and survive as the world moves around him.

The gang he was in before the O’Driscoll’s weren’t nice men, and they had what was coming to them, but Kieran was able to avoid the bigger conflict and not get caught up in the storm that took them. He mainly stayed away from them, only took care of their horses and kept his head down. When there was nothing left for him there, when they were all but wiped off the Earth, he left and never looked back. He didn’t like them, but they were nicer men than Colm.

Colm O’Driscoll and his men scared the shit out of Kieran, and for good reason. Colm was sadistic and feral, ready to burn down the entire world just to get the satisfaction of seeing everyone die before him. Colm was ruthless and terrifying, and every time he spoke, it sent chills through Kieran. Colm’s men were exactly the same, only in this life for the bloodshed, not the freedom. It was a blessing to be taken captive by the Van Der Linde’s, even after they starved him and almost cut his bits off.

Dutch seemed very similar to Colm when he first started riding with Dutch and his boys, but now he sees there is a distinct difference between the two; Dutch holds values like family and freedom close to him and used those values to work for the good of the family, while Colm just sees people as disposable and their blood has to be spilled to further his own progress. This emphasis on Family was definitely prominent in his time with the gang. In the few short months since they’ve come off the mountain, he’s seen Dutch treat Arthur and John like sons and the rest of the gang like brothers. They watch each other’s backs and make sure they don’t leave anyone behind if they can help it. Even then, they’ve gone back for anyone Kieran’s seen left behind, like Sean.

Kieran also noticed something that separated Dutch from Colm was remorse. The O’Driscolls never had a funeral for one of their boys when they die, they don’t even bury them, just leave them where they are (Or strap them to a horse and get it out of there, if someone died in camp) and continue going. But he saw Dutch’s boys bury Jenny and Davey in Colter, and they had a small ceremony for Mac once they knew what had happened to him. And then, the biggest show of regret, Sean’s death. The girls cried for days, Karen wouldn’t leave the place they buried him at. The men each paced around, muttering to each other, trying to make sense of what had happened. Dutch didn’t come out of his tent for nearly three days, only being consoled by Hosea, who also seemed to be in a bit of a funk from the commotion. Even Kieran was sad Sean was gone. The guy was absolutely crazy, but he was also funny and loved talking to Kieran when no one else did. Sean was one of the first guys in camp to stop calling him O’Driscoll, too, he’d almost forgotten entirely.

The concept of family in the Van Der Linde gang was very strange. There were Dutch and Hosea, obviously, the curious couple, and they had 2 sons they had raised, John and Arthur. But they also claimed Tilly, Lenny, Sean as their own as well, since they’re all still so young. And of course, John was with Abigail (Kind of? Kieran doesn’t understand how their relationship works) which means Jack is also part of the family. When Jack went missing, everyone freaked out because that was their son, their nephew, their grandson, their blood; whether they had real blood between them or not was irrelevant, it was their blood. Kieran felt so bad when Jack went missing because he knew it was his fault. He should’ve been paying attention to where those Braithwaite boys were, made sure they actually wanted to talk to Hosea, kept an eye on them until they left. Instead, he assumed the others would do it, and something bad happened because of it. He had just hoped he’d be okay by the time the gang found him.

And he was. They got Jack back from some guy named Bronte, and he was perfectly fine, babbling on and on about how much fun he had. It was a relief that he didn’t even realize he had been kidnapped; he thought he was just staying there while the gang moved camps, which was pretty coincidental since they did move camps when Jack was gone. They had a pretty big party to celebrate Jack’s homecoming. Kieran was even allowed to join the party, having a few drinks before sitting between Mary-Beth and Arthur. They’re the two that seem to like him the most, and he likes them because they’re nice to him.

“Hey,” Mary-Beth always has such a friendly smile whenever she talks to Kieran. He loves that about her.

“Hey,” Kieran smiles back.

“You having fun?”

“Yeah.” Kieran messes with the neck of his beer bottle, feeling a flush rise across his cheeks when Mary-Beth places a hand on his shoulder. It’s meant to be a casual gesture, but anytime Mary-Beth touches Kieran, his heart starts pounding and his head fills with air. Actually, this time, that might be the alcohol. How many of these has he had?

“I’m so glad we got Jack back,” Mary-Beth says.

“M-Me too,” Kieran nods.

“We wouldn’t have even had to get him back if it weren’t for you,” Javier sneers from nearby. “He wouldn’t have even been taken.”

“I said I was sorr-”

“Don’t apologize to him,” Arthur says. “Abigail and John got their son back, that’s what matters.” He shoos Javier off before turning back to Kieran. “Seriously, don’t worry about these guys.”

“They’re right, though,” Kieran says. “I’m the one who got Jack taken.”

“You didn’t know those guys were gonna run off with Jack,” Mary-Beth shakes her head. “Would’ve been your fault if you saw them takin’ him and didn’t say anything. You can’t be in trouble for what you didn’t even see.”

“Wish the others saw it like that,” Kieran hums, drinking the rest of his bottle. He sets it down neatly, holding back a belch, and shifts a bit as he looks around. Jack’s already been put to bed, now the party is just for the adults. Everyone’s splitting off into different groups, singing and drinking, leaving the three of them at the main fire alone.

“They will,” Mary-Beth says.

“You’re practically one of us by now.” Arthur agrees. “They’ll come around once they realize they ain’t mad anymore.”

“Until then, I’ll just keep my head down, I guess.” Kieran laughs like it’s a joke, but his tone is sad, and he looks down at the ground. Mary-Beth squeezes his shoulder reassuringly as he gets to his feet, slightly stumbling until he holds his hands out to regain balance. “I’m okay.” He says.

“You should get some sleep,” Mary-Beth says. “Look like you’ve had a few too many.”

“I’m alright.” Kieran shrugs. “Thank you though, think I will lay down for a bit.”

“See you in the morning, Kieran.” Mary-Beth reaches up to place a hand on his cheek, but remembers Arthur is there and instead turns around and runs inside the house. Arthur chuckles and gets up, patting Kieran’s shoulder before walking away.

About 2 hours after Kieran found somewhere to lay down, he is awakened by a heavy pulsing in his bladder, and reluctantly gets up and heads outside to relieve himself. He can hear, around the corner on the other side of the house, Javier is still singing with Karen and Susan. He never wants to say anything, because he thinks it’ll make him sound weird, but he likes the sound of Javier playing guitar. It’s always so happy and calming, especially while he’s doing chores.

His head still swimming from the alcohol, Kieran’s mind wanders for a moment as he walks, not noticing the music getting softer until he no longer hears it. He looks around, regaining his bearings when he recognizes what part of the swamp he’s in. He’s not too far from the house, the muddy river he’s on the bank of right now leads straight back there, he must have followed it this far by accident. Maybe Mary-Beth was right, maybe he did drink a bit too much. Why the hell did he think of coming out this far?

There’s a soft sloshing of water in the swamp off to his right, but he assumes it’s some kind of animal. It’s too dark for Kieran to make out any shapes in the swampy waters, but he isn’t really alarmed by the sound until there is more than one sloshing noise from that side. A group of something. It sounds big. Kieran quickly zips his pants back up and gets ready to run. He knows it’s pointless, he can barely run sober, but if something is trying to sneak up on him, he needs to try.

“Now!” A hiss from an unfamiliar voice registers too late in Kieran’s head and he cannot suck in enough air to scream before he is gagged and a cloth bag is thrown over his head. His hands are quickly restricted and he’s lifted off the ground, placed on a horse, and tied down. He tries to scream, but he knows whatever noise he makes won’t be loud enough for the others to hear, and so his stomach starts to burn in terror, his whole body quickly sobering up as he feels the horse turn around and start moving further away from camp. His heart starts pounding and he feels tears in the corner of his eyes. “You sure he’s one of them?” The voice asks, whispering even though there is no one else around to hear them.

“He said they were somewhere around here, he’s gotta be.” Another voice says.

The rest of the ride is quiet, neither man talking. Kieran cannot see anything but darkness through the bag, but he knows they’ve gone up and down a few hills. That doesn’t help him at all to gather his bearings, but he knows it. He can’t contain himself the longer they take to get to their destination, he’s whimpering and shaking and just wishing this ride would be over soon.

Finally, he hears voices. The crackling of a fire, this is a campsite. The horse stops moving, and the two men grab Kieran and throw him on the ground, ripping the sack off his head. He whimpers and looks around, trying to get his eyes to adjust quickly to the bright burning light of the fire nearby. He doesn’t recognize anyone’s faces, but he sure as shit recognizes their clothes.

“Well, that was quick,” Kieran’s skin crawls and he feels like he’s going to throw up. He looks past the small group that gathered around him and sees Colm O’Driscoll standing, not even looking at him, holding a bottle in one hand and his belt buckle in the other. “You guys find the camp?”

“No, sir, but I think we were close.” One of the scouts says, grabbing Kieran roughly by his arm and pulling him to his feet. “Snatched this squirrelly little guy, he may be able to tell us how close we were.” Colm’s eyes meet Kieran’s and Kieran’s legs buckle, the man quickly resetting him on his feet- “Stay still!”- as he starts trying to control his quickening breaths.

“Wait, I know y- Oh my god,” Colm says, jaw dropped. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“What?” The scout asks.

“You’re actually still alive,” Colm ignores the scout, taking long strides to get to Kieran, standing over him like a nightmare. “I thought you were dead.” He starts laughing. “Good job, Allen. You brought me back one of my runaway boys.” When the group starts mumbling to each other, Colm smirks. The same smirk Kieran has seen a hundred times, and it’s never gotten any less scary. Kieran lets out a whimper, still gagged, and Colm lets out another booming laugh as he yanks the gag out of Kieran’s mouth. “Shit, kid, what was your name again? It was K, right? Keith, Klaus, something like that?”

“K-Kieran-”

“That’s right.” Colm sneers. “You took care of our horses. So, Van Der Linde took ya in, did he?”

“You guys left me b-behind,” Kieran says. He doesn’t mean for it to sound like he’s arguing, but Colm sees it that way and silences him with a punch to the jaw, sending him backward onto his ass with a yelp.

“And you didn’t think to come looking for your family?” Colm kneels down, pulling out his knife and holding it to Kieran’s throat. “Think you were too good to come back to us?”

“Y-Y-You ain’t my family,” Kieran says.

“Oh, we ain’t now?” Colm chuckles- That might have actually been a growl. “What, you think good ol’ Dutch actually gives a shit about you? Think he’ll come looking for you? He didn’t even come looking for his own kid when we had him a month or so back. Why would he want you?”

Kieran grits his teeth and attempts to lean away from Colm’s knife. Colm lets him, standing back up. The scouts grab Kieran and pull him to his feet. “H-He don’t want me,” Kieran answers honestly. “At least I don’t think he does. But some people do. They’ll come looking for me.”

“You sure about that?” Colm says. He starts walking away, and the scouts drag Kieran along as the rest of the gathered group starts to spread out, going back to whatever they were doing before.

“I don’t need to be sure,” Kieran says softly.

“That doesn’t even make sense, kid.” Colm hums. He leads the scouts into an old shack, where they tie Keiran to a pole and leave, Colm shutting the door behind them. Colm looks a lot more menacing in dim lighting, Kieran notes as the candle flickers on the table. On the table are a bunch of tools, things Kieran has seen before but doesn’t want to think about. “So,” Colm brings Kieran’s attention back to him. “My boys picked you up-”

“I ain’t gonna tell you where they are,” Kieran says. His legs are shaking, but he clenches his jaw in an attempt to steady himself. He’s not scared of Colm, he’s scared of what Colm can do. Specifically, he’s scared of what can be done  _ to him _ by Colm. Colm is not the subject, but the adjective. “You can’t make me talk.”

“Oh, we’ll see, boy,” Colm says. “You ain’t that tough.”

A few days go by and Kieran is sitting in his own blood and vomit, nearly in pieces from the torture Colm has bequeathed upon him, and he still doesn’t tell Colm where the gang is. The scouts look all over the swamp and just cannot find it. Colm is restless, and his methods of torture become more violent. Kieran’s sure one of his lungs are punctured, he can’t breathe properly anymore, but it’s nothing compared to his determination to keep quiet.

Kieran knows no one is coming for him. He’s not as important as Sean or Jack, he’s not family; he was barely a friend. The gang has moved on without him, surely. How long has he been here? Days? Weeks? The pain makes it easy to lose track of the days, he honestly isn’t sure. They wouldn’t come looking for him now though, right? Even if they did, could they save him? He was pretty banged up, this may be a bit too much to fix.

At this point, Kieran realizes, he’s not even being quiet for loyalty anymore. If forced to choose between Colm and Dutch, he’d pick Dutch every time, but the fact that no one has come to save him yet shows if he could just not pick a side, he’d tell Dutch to go to hell and leave all this gang shit behind. No, Kieran is keeping quiet to spite Colm. The knowledge that he’s going to die here has given him the upper hand because the end result is the same whether he talks or not, he just needs to remember he’s putting friends like Mary-Beth and Arthur in danger if he talks.

Kieran had a feeling Colm would be the one who killed him. He’s thought that ever since he met Colm, sadistic and feral. The man has killed so many people in front of Kieran that he had nightmares about Colm killing him just as gruesomely. When Colm finally stormed into the shack one morning, holding an ax, Kieran knew what was going to happen.

“This is your last chance,” Colm says. “You don’t have to die here, boy. Just tell me where they are.”

Kieran Duffy was not a weak man. He died alone and numb, terrified of what came next, but he was not weak.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“So be it.”


	9. Day 9: Swing (Red Dead Redemption)

Today was a day Eddie had not expected to look forward to. Death has always been his biggest fear, the one thing he would not acknowledge. But, the day has come when it’s all he can acknowledge.

Eddie left the gang when they were still living in Beaver Hollow. He thought the life was behind him, until Bill reached out to him about a year ago, saying John was working for the feds.

“He’s been looking for a bunch of us,” Bill said while they sat in a seedy bar near Blackwater. “Dutch and me and Javier and you.”

“Me?” Eddie had laughed. “Why me? I wasn’t even in the gang at the end.”

“That’s the thing,” Bill said. “I think the feds think we’re still with Dutch, so they’ve got John huntin’ us all down.”

“So now what?”

“Javier’s got a place we can hide out in Mexico. Lay low until the trail’s cold.”

“All of us go to Mexico?”

“Well, not Dutch. I’m not going and looking for him.”

“You, me, and Javier then? Don’t you think we should all spread out? Not be grouped together where is he catches one of us, he catches all of us?”

Bill didn’t listen, neither did Javier. And they all met up in Mexico and got caught together. John claimed Detective- once Agent- Ross was holding onto his family, and this had to happen to get them back. Eddie wanted to sympathize, but he had his own life to live, away from the outlaw life like he had done all these years. Bill, Javier, even Dutch- Those should be his targets; they never let go of the life. To punish Eddie when he left was hypocrisy, disrespectful, and showed him the true colors of this nation.

But, all there is now is death.

Dutch jumped off a cliff to avoid the noose, Javier somehow got a gun off a guard and shot himself last night. All that was left was Eddie and Bill.

They were gagged before they even stepped onto the gallows. Bill has been running his mouth all night and got them both in trouble, so there were no last words. Eddie did not hate Bill for this, but if it has happened a decade earlier, he would have been. Eddie used to be a man of theatrics, always wants the last word to be the most meaningful. He only spent 4 years with the Van Der Linde gang and insisted on tagging along with every mission he could, causing the biggest scenes and rarely listening to what the rest of the gang had to say. However, he’s not a young adult anymore, he’s grown and realizes life isn’t about making the biggest show, it’s about trying to see how long you get to exist on this planet.

For Eddie, only 32 years. For Bill, 44. For Sean, 20. Lenny got 18 and some change, Arthur got 36. Hosea and Dutch both had 55. Who knows how long you’ll be here. You have to make the most of it, whatever you choose to do.

John’s in the crowd, towards the back. Bill sees him first, then Eddie. He watches them, and Eddie wishes to see remorse in his eyes, but there is none. No acknowledgment of what he’s done to his own brothers, once his family.

Jack and Abigail stand with John in the crowd. Abigail looks exactly the same as she did the night Eddie left, barely any older in the last decade. Jack, though, Jack looks a lot different, a lot older. Eddie’s chest burns, remembering the boy he used to sing to at night, the boy who’s diapers he helped changed because John had just left and everyone wanted to act like Abigail was all alone in the world. The boy who he literally helped burn down an entire family for. Here he is, nearly a grown man. Does he remember the songs? Does he remember braiding flowers into Charles’ hair? Does he remember begging Eddie not to leave? Does he even remember the gang, or were they all just a really bad dream?

There are people on the stage with them, cops and a priest, maybe? Eddie isn’t listening to any of them speak to the crowd below. Instead, he prays. He is not a religious man, he does not believe in God, but if He existed, Eddie would attempt to atone in his last moments.

The floor suddenly drops out from beneath them, and they fall. Eddie’s stomach lurches at the drop, then it lurches again at the sickening snap that comes from beside him. Bill is already dead, but the air is only knocked from Eddie. He doesn’t know what else to do, he starts kicking his feet and trying to scream. He doesn’t know why he panics, he was so calm only a moment before, but now he is here, breathless and struggling, tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

He wheezes, trying to find any way to draw in a breath, and the crowd below him cringes away as he wets himself. He doesn’t notice any of this; he can’t hear the crowd and all he knows is that his face is hot and his vision is starting to darken.

Eddie falls unconscious after about 30 seconds of struggling, then continues twitching and trying to kick his feet for another few minutes. Finally, he falls limp, and the crowd stares at the bodies swinging with disgusted awe. John’s jaw clenches as he leads his family away.

Jack looks back and remembers the smell of wildflowers and the sound of a guitar, but he can’t remember why.


	10. Day 10: Pattern (Red Dead Redemption)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super super late, but here are days 10-13

You learn a lot about people just by watching them. Charles mastered this art early on in life, watching the members of his tribe as he sat in the grass. He knew it was time for a hunt because the tribe’s cook went to the hunters. It was time for a coming-of-age ceremony because warriors would make smaller weapons and face-paint. He knew when babies were born because women would not leave their tent for a few weeks afterward. Life is made of patterns. Life is also just mundane enough that it lost its excitement early on with Charles. He saw behavior after behavior repeated, and nothing was new. This caused him to become apathetic to much of the world, hardly awestruck by anything.

This philosophy carried on into his life with Dutch’s gang. He sat by the fire and watched people. This time, with no set purposes like ‘Hunters’ or ‘medics’ it was just a matter of the people. Like how Bill and Javier could only sit together for about 10 minutes before Bill said something racist or Javier called him stupid. Or when Dutch’s gramophone plays one particular song (Charles didn’t know the name of it, but he always recognized the melody), Susan and Dutch drop everything they’re doing and dance together. Or that Uncle always belches right before grabbing another bottle of whatever he’s managed to get his hands on that day. Life is made of patterns.

One of his favorite members to watch is Arthur because Arthur’s patterns are different from the others. They aren’t behavioral; he doesn’t have a certain tick before he gets more coffee, or when he’s about to go to bed, or when they’re on jobs like robberies. His patterns are more subconscious; he picks the good of the gang over the good of the singular, he’s nicer to women and children than the men, and he always replaces the flower on his desk in the fall. It’s always fascinated Charles to see someone who doesn’t do the same exact thing every day but instead follows the same morals and traditions every day.

So Charles started going places with Arthur. If Arthur had no patterns, maybe staying with him would get Charles out of his pattern; a pattern of watching and suffering and living like he was only meant to die.

Arthur enjoyed Charles’ company. In camp, he was stoic and menacing (Taciturn was the word Uncle used once), but outside of that, away from everyone, he was gentle and talkative. Charles loved to talk. Well, he did and didn’t. He liked to talk, but he didn’t really like to be listened to. If it was important, yeah, he wanted to be listened to, but sometimes he just started rambling (Talking always made him anxious) and he didn’t want people to listen to that, just wanted them to tune him out until he could bring himself to shut up.

But I digress.

Charles loved to talk. Arthur loved to listen. This system worked well. They’d go hunting and Charles would talk the whole way there and back. Talk about animals, memories of his family, the gang, anything, and Arthur would listen.

Arthur also liked to people watch. His favorites to watch were Charles and Bill. Bill because, well, who wouldn’t want to watch a monkey throw his own shit and try to prove his intelligence, but Charles because the man is just so strange. He acts like he’s a part of the gang, but also outside of it. He goes on jobs but doesn’t participate in the celebrations after jobs. He does chores and helps the women, but Arthur’s never even seen him speak to them before. Charles is much more interesting than damn near everyone else in camp, in Arthur’s opinion.

“Can I ask you something’?” Arthur asked one day after a hunt.

“Sure,” Charles said.

“Some of the others could really learn a thing or two from your stories. Why don’t you tell everyone else? I know Hosea and Lenny would love to have you join them at their nightly swapping-stories-round-the-fire bullshit.”

Charles doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. When he does speak, it’s just one word, “Dunno.” He grips his reigns a little tighter, moving his horse ever so slightly forward, and Arthur catches the movement immediately.

“Why don’t you like the others, Charles?” Arthur asks.

“Never said I didn’t.”

“No, but you act like you don’t.”

Charles shrugs. “I don’t know.” He says. “Most of them don’t like me.”

“And who told you that?”

“They don’t need to,” Charles says. “They act like they don’t.”

“How?”

“Call me stupid, don’t take me along unless someone forces them to. I hardly get a vote when we take one.”

“We all call each other stupid,” Arthur combats. “And Sean still begs to go places; Kieran doesn’t get a vote. It’s not that we don’t like you, that’s just how things are sometimes.”

“You guys only really call Bill stupid,” Charles raises an eyebrow. “Sean’s incompetent, and Kieran’s not even into the gang.”

“Okay, we’re not going back and forth like this,” Arthur sighs. “Who the hell was calling you stupid?”

“Uncle, Bill, Micah.”

“Racists and morons,” Arthur says. “Javier and Lenny get treated like shit by them, too.”

Charles shrugs.

“Uncle’s just playing around,” Arthur continues. “He acts like he doesn’t respect anybody. And you’re a whole lot smarter than Bill or Micah, and they’re probably threatened by it. They think you’re easy to pick on, though, because you’re quiet. Same reason we still mess with Kieran.”

Charles shrugs again.

“Don’t get all quiet on me now,” Arthur says sternly. “What’s eatin’ ya?”

“....Do you think I talk weird?” Charles says. It’s so sudden, like he blurts it out. “Like, not say weird stuff, but the way I say stuff is weird?”

“No?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. “Who said that?”

“Bunch of people,” Charles says. “I didn’t think a lot of it until we met Eagle Flies. Hearing him and his father talk, then hearing you or Dutch talk, I realize our speech patterns are different from yours. We emphasize different words, and pause in front of others.”

“I mean, yeah, you guys talk different, but so does Sean and Lenny and Javier. It don’t mean nothin.”

“I guess,” Charles says.

“Is that why you don’t talk at camp no more?” Arthur asks. “Cause they made fun of the way you talk?”

Charles shrugs.

Arthur sighs deeply through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it. “My God, Charles.”

“It’s silly, I know,” Charles says quickly. “Just always bugged me.”

“Yeah, well, stop letting it bug you,” Arthur says. “They’re stupid.”

Charles blinks. Arthur actually sounds… Angry with the boys. Once again, he manages to surprise Charles by doing something out of his pattern; choosing to side with the single over the group.

“I don’t think there’s nothing wrong with the way you talk,” Arthur says. He grumbles it, crossing his arms across his chest as they ride, barely holding his reigns. He doesn’t look at Charles, but Charles can see a small flush appearing on his face, almost like he’s embarrassed. “I think it’s actually neat.”

Charles blinks and snorts. “Neat?” He repeats. “Since when do you say the word ‘Neat’?”

“I say it.” Arthur grunts.

“I’ve never heard you say it.”

“Well, I say it. Don’t need to make a big deal about it.”

“Of course not,” Charles couldn’t help but smile a bit. Arthur was so flustered trying to give him a compliment, it was amusing. Arthur wasn’t one to fluster easily. Just another reason Arthur was so fascinating to him.


	11. Day 11: Snow (Red Dead Redemption)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if it'll keep the italics, but anything in italics is said in Spanish since I'm not plugging all this into google translate and perishing.

Javier hates the cold. It makes him feel homesick. He never really got a chance to say goodbye to his family and his country, so being somewhere that seemed so different made him wonder if it was all worth losing in the blink of an eye.

He’s been in America for a little over 3 months, and the gradual drop in temperature as the days get shorter has been a little more than an annoyance for him. Javier has been hiding on a farm, huddled among the animals for warmth, and he was sure it couldn’t get much worse.

It probably wouldn’t have, if he wasn’t starving. Finding enough food to stay comfortable was a hassle, especially since most of the resources he came across were unfamiliar to him. He couldn’t have possibly traveled that far from Mexico, why was everything so different?

He knew how to cook chickens, however, and there are plenty of those lying around on the other side of the farm. He waited until it was dark and made his way across the land, crunching softly as he broke the thin frost that laid over everything. There was a brown hen resting in the coop, and she would be both the easiest to catch and the biggest to get some food out of. The hen kicked her feet and squawked as Javier lifted her off the ground, and Javier was pecked in the hand a few times trying to keep her quiet.

There was a chuckle from behind him that sent a chill up his spine, dropping the chicken and pulling out his knife, turning around.

“Whoa,” The man standing in front of Javier put his hand up. Only one hand, because he had a chicken tucked up under his arm. “Easy. Didn’t mean to startle ya.” Javier looked the man up and down. He wasn’t one of the farmers, his clothes were too nice. Or they were supposed to be, the man obviously could have looked really stunning if his clothes just weren’t in the rugged condition they were in.

Javier watched the man’s movements closely, unable to understand his words. He took a step back and the man took a step forward. “ _ Get away from me! _ ”

“Oh?” The man said, cocking his head. “Can you not speak English, then? Hm…” He takes a step back, giving Javier from space. “Easy, buddy.” Regardless of whether Javier understood him or not, his voice was an attempt at calming him down, an attempt Javier would not allow to placate him. “ _ I can’t speak Spanish _ ,” The man says in choppy Spanish, wincing at his words.

“ _ No shit, _ ” Javier snorted and rolled his eyes.

The man smiles at him. A laugh, that was a laugh. “Name?” The man said. Javier blinked a few times. “Aw, jeez, you don’t speak any English? How do I…  _ Name _ ?”

“Javier,” Javier answers, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m Dutch.” Dutch responds.

“Dutch?” Javier repeats. It’s a stupid name, but there’s not really a reason to tell him that, so Javier doesn’t say it. Instead, he takes a few steps back, giving him a better view of the room as he tries to pick up the chicken he dropped while keeping his eyes on Dutch.

Dutch takes a step closer, but Javier growls like some kind of feral animal, holding the knife out again. “Easy, I don’t wanna hurt you. I thought we were gonna play nice now, amigo?”

Javier huffs and shakes his head. He didn’t need to know English just as much as Dutch didn’t need to know Spanish to get the hint. He knew what Dutch was saying, and he was wrong. They weren’t friends, and Javier wasn’t scared to hurt him.

Dutch wanted to say more, do that thing where he talks and people listen, but he would need a different strategy because that’s not going to work here. “Javier…”

“ _ How about you go your way? _ ” Javier snaps. “ _ And I go mine _ ?” When Javier tilts his head a bit, eyes firey and squinted, Dutch sees it. His opportunity. A long thin scab, nearly scarred over, along Javier’s neck. He can’t help himself, Dutch gasps out loud and drops his chicken. Javier freezes for a few seconds before he realizes what Dutch is looking at. He looks down quickly, tilting his head to cover the scab.

“Well, that looks rough,” Dutch says. “How’d ya do that, huh?” He holds his hands up cautiously as he approaches Javier. Javier doesn’t move away; he doesn’t know why, but when Dutch tilts his chin back up, he is frozen. Dutch runs a thumb along the scab. He can feel Javier’s heartbeat under the skin on his throat, and he smiles a bit. This man must be pretty quick, getting his throat sliced but getting away quick enough to not actually get killed. Imagine how quick he’d be on a job. Dutch looks at Javier to find the man not looking at him, but looking at the ceiling, knife still clutched in his hand, not lowered to his side. “I ain’t gonna hurt you,” Dutch says softly.

Javier doesn’t relax until Dutch has taken the hand off his neck. He takes a few steps back but doesn’t pull out his knife again. Instead, he just watches Dutch for a moment as Dutch appears to be thinking. Finally, Dutch leans down and picks up the brown hen Javier had originally been holding. He holds it out to Javier, who takes it, not even motioning to question him.

Dutch picks up another chicken and tilts his head towards the door. “Come on,” He says. He turns to go, and after a few steps, he sees Javier following him out of the corner of his eye. He chooses not to say anything and just keep walking.

To this day, Javier has no idea why he followed Dutch off the farm that night, or why Dutch allowed him to come all the way back to camp, where he more or less gets interrogated until Dutch tells everyone he can’t understand English. But, regardless, he was fed and given warmer clothes, and slept on something other than straw. He was grateful. His tent mate was a bit rude, shoulder-checking him whenever they were close enough to do so, mumbling something Javier couldn’t understand, but he wasn’t an idiot; he knew what racism sounds like.

The next morning, Javier was awakened by the sounds of the girls squealing with delight. The wind blowing against his tent was frigid and something wet and white was blowing into his door from time to time, melting with anything it came in contact with, including Javier himself as he puts on his coat and heads outside.

The ground is coated with the same white stuff blowing into the tent, unmelted and pristine. He knew what it was, he just wasn’t sure of the word for it. He’s never seen it before, but his uncle had told him about how rain can get so cold it would freeze and turn white. He never thought he’d see it; it was too hot back home.

“Morning!” Dutch grins when he sees Javier, rubbing his eyes and looking around. “Sleep well, Javier?”

Javier sits at the fire, where Arthur and Hosea are also sitting. They eye him suspiciously, but Javier doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he looks at Dutch and simply says, “ _ The rain froze _ .”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Dutch chuckles. “Susan, can you bring Javier some coffee?” Susan groans softly and gets to her feet.

“ _ Coffee _ ?” Javier’s ears perk up.

“There we go!” Dutch grins. “We have some communication!”

The coffee is set in front of Javier, and he basks in the warmth of the cup before taking a sip.

“No- Shit!” Came a sudden yelp from across camp. No one really heard it, though. Instead, everyone heard a soft thud as a snowball collided with Hosea’s back, sending little chunks of snow across the table. “I’m so sorry, Hosea!” Mary-Beth calls, nearly in tears.

“That’s quite alright, dear,” Hosea says. Under the short chuckle that follows is annoyance as Hosea shakes off the extra snow. “Why don’t you guys take this somewhere else?”

“Yes, sir,” Tilly says, quickly taking the girls and running away.

“They’re just playing around, Hosea,” Dutch says, helping slap the snow off the old man’s shoulders. “You don’t need to be so grumpy about it.”

“They may just be girls, Dutch,” Hosea says. “But they still throw hard. That’ll leave a bruise by tomorrow.”

“Oh, it will not.”

Javier listens to the two of them bicker for a moment, not understanding what the problem is, before getting up and going to look for the girls. He isn’t that far outside of camp before he finds the girls giggling and throwing snowballs with a couple of the other members of the gang.

Tilly sees him first. “Javier!” She calls, running up to him. She has snow stuck to her eyelashes and the scarf covering her hair. “Wanna play with us?”

“Ah…” Javier shrugs his shoulders.

Tilly looks back at the others and cups snow in her hand, creating a snowball. She places the ball into Javier’s gloved hand and scoops up more snow, creating another ball. “Bill!” She shouts, throwing the ball. It hits Bill in the back of his head, and he turns to them, pouting. Javier stares at the ball in his hand for a moment before throwing it, hitting Bill in the chest. “There we go!” Tilly claps her hands. Everyone but Bill seems to be laughing, and Javier sees Bill lean down to scoop up more snow, and he realizes the point of this game.

When Bill throws the snowball, Javier does not hesitate, he ducks behind Tilly, letting her be hit with a shriek of laughter. “No, dumbass!” Bill snorts. “She’s on your team, don’t let her get hit!”

By the time Dutch realizes Javier has wandered off, the game has become a free-for-all, and when Dutch finds everyone outside of camp, he is shocked to see everyone having fun. He whistles and it echoes off the bare trees, signaling everyone to return to camp.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Tilly asks Javier. He doesn't exactly understand what she’s saying, but he’s heard the word ‘fun’ enough to have a basic understanding of it. He nods.

“ _ I’m having a good time, _ ” He says. “ _ This honestly isn’t what I expected when I saw all the guns you guys having lying around. I thought you’d all be dangerous or something. _ ”

Tilly nods. Even though they can’t understand each other, they do in a way.

Everyone gets back to camp and Javier picks up another handful of snow, holding it out to her. “ _ English? _ ” He cocks his head.

“Snow.”

“Snow.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shhh, we're just gonna pretend that didn't end horribly, shhh it's symbolic, shhh.


	12. Day 12: Dragon (Dragon Age)

Qunari are said to have the blood of dragons in them. This concept, whether fact or fiction, has always interested Iron Bull, ever since he was still Hissrad, clinging to the robes of the tamassrans. To see a dragon up close would be like meeting a long lost relative, some distant relation. These mighty beasts were inside of him.

Luckily, around the start of his lifetime, dragons were proven to not be extinct. His chance of meeting the creatures who share the blood flowing through his veins was still possible. When he was to Orlais, he thought he’d find a ton of them, but he didn’t, to his own disappointment. The Chargers, hoping to surprise their boss, looked for them, too, but to no avail. Everyone seemed to think it was silly and so unlike the Iron Bull to remain hopeful in finding a dragon, but his hope skyrocketed once he joined the Inquisition. There, his chances of seeing a dragon were so high he could hardly contain himself whenever the Inquisitor sent his team off the beaten path.

“I mean, what do we do, boss?” Iron bull asks. “If we find one?”

“One what?” Lavellan looks at him.

“A dragon.”

“We fight it?” Lavellan says. He was normally a patient man, but Iron Bull was acting like a child on a field trip, wanting to turn every rock and peeks around every corner to look for some trouble to get into.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Iron Bull nearly purrs, vibrating.

Cassandra groans softly. She doesn’t see the excitement in killing dragons, just like there was no excitement in killing Templars or mages. Now, arrogant lying dwarves, those were fun. But, those are in low numbers, and the only one around works with her, so it’s currently not fun doing that either.

Finally, the day came when, while traveling in the Emerald Graves, the team came across what looked like large curved ivory stones, pointed on one side and flat on the other. They were the weirdest looking things to find lying around until Dorian made the mistake of pointing out-

“They look like teeth, don’t they?” The moment it left his mouth, he regretted it, as the group turned to him with wide-eyed realization.

“Teeth?” Iron Bull looked them over carefully, a smile spreading across his face. “They are teeth.”

“Wait, are you serious?” Krem gasps. “They’re huge.”

“But they’re so oddly shaped for giant’s teeth,” Dorian notes.

“That’s because they’re not giant’s teeth.” Lavellan sighs with realization.

“No,” Cassandra says sternly. “We have work to do. If you guys want to run off and hunt a dragon, do it on your own time.”

“I will catch you guys later, then.” Iron Bull says. “Come on, Krem.”

“You’re not running off to hunt a dragon by yourself, Bull,” Lavellan says. “You’ll get yourselves killed.”

“Then let’s go.” Iron Bull says.

“We’re not fighting a dragon,” Cassandra says in an attempt to keep everyone on track.

“Oh, this is going to be so fucking awesome.” Iron Bull says as everyone begins getting their gear ready for a fight.

Finding the dragon wasn’t that hard, they just had to follow any scorch marks or corpses they found, and suddenly they were in front of a cave. Above the cave was a ledge, and on top of that ledge was a large golden dragon. Her scales look like liquid gold, glittering in the sunlight above them. She hasn’t seen them yet, but she will soon as, when Iron Bull sees it, he lets out a loud roar, a battle cry, and to everyone’s dismay he takes off running without another hesitation.

“Bull!” Lavellan races after him without a second thought, daggers in hand.

“We’re not really doing this, are we?” Dorian scoffs, watching them go.

“They’ll die if we don’t help ‘em.” Krem shrugs, pulling his battle-ax from its place on his back. He doesn’t run towards the fight, he just watches for a moment as the dragon descends upon Iron Bull and the Inquisitor.

“We can’t fight this thing!” Dorian says. “Look at the size of it!”

“Good thing you’re a necromancer then, huh?” Krem banters.

“What good will that do us if he dies, too?” Cassandra scoffs as Krem finally bursts into a full sprint to join the action. The seeker throws a glance at Dorian over her shoulder, and sighs heavily, pulling out her sword. “Stay back, keep an eye on us.”

“Surely,” Dorian chuckles, but it sounds more like a whimper. Cassandra doesn’t notice, thank the Maker.

Iron Bull’s blood is burning in his veins, racing and pulsing inside his ears, and for a moment he’s lightheaded as he ducks to avoid the dragon as she passes over the clearing again. He doesn’t notice his friends for a moment as he is only focused on the dragon, but he feels Krem by his side, a man who has never truly questioned him, and he feels that much safer.

The battle lasts longer than expected, but the dragon is finally defeated, and as the rest of the team heals their wounds and gather their loot, Iron Bull stands in front of the barely-breathing shell of something that was once sacred, now gasping and panting in front of him like nothing more than a worn-out dog. It’s not what Iron Bull expected, to be honest. It was definitely better than he thought it would be, seeing this creature in her prime, throwing fire carelessly against the onslaught of the Inquisition. But it feels so strange, knowing this beautiful being was brought down by mere mortals, 2 humans, an Elf, and one of her own descendants.

There is something as Iron Bull kneels down in front of her, a slow shift, and the dragon slowly opens her eyes and looks at him. There is no desire to fight, she doesn’t make any movements to attack him as she blinks her eyes slowly, fighting off sleep.

“Ataash varin kata.” Iron Bull mutters quietly so the others don’t hear.

The dragon continues to look at Iron Bull for a few seconds before her eyes focus, staring directly into him. Then, as if nothing happened, her eyes unfocus and she closes them, her body going slack. Iron Bull finds himself standing in front of the corpse of something that is inside him.

“Boss?” Krem’s voice seems to be coming from right next to him, but Iron Bull also hears it far away, as if through a tunnel. “Hey-”

“Yeah, I’m here,” Iron Bull shakes his head and stands, turning to return to the group. She looked at him. She actually looked at him, recognized he was there. It wasn’t the way a dog looks at its owner, silly and loyal, or the way cats look at other cats, aggressive and envious, but it was understanding and attentive as he tried to bring her a verbal comfort in her final moments.

He had always been told Qunari had the blood of dragons in them, but he never thought to ask what that meant. Was it that they were intelligent, or dangerous, or because they were fierce or brave or fearless? What made this being so special is was brought peace by his last action? Why was this a part of his heritage, his culture, his own blood?

Was it that the Qunari held the blood of dragons, or was it that the dragons were Qunari?


	13. Day 13: Ash (Red Dead Redemption)

“We never should have gotten involved in this god damn town!” Hosea could hardly contain his anger, standing over Dutch as he tried to console Abigail, hysterical in his arms.

“If the Braithwaites took him,” Bill says “This is on you, Hosea, you’re the one-“

“Don’t you even start with me!” Hosea screams. “If you were actually on guard duty today instead of intimidatin’ Kieran into doing it while you went and got Sean killed, the boy wouldn’t have even left camp.”

“So blame Kieran!” Bill shouts “Don’t blame that on me!”

“Kieran made a decision based on the fact  _ you _ were not where  _ you _ were supposed to be.” Hosea says “The Braithwaites said they were looking for me, Kieran sent them my way, he didn’t know any better.”

“I just don’t see how it’s my fault,” Bill says. Hosea inhales sharply to let out a quick sting of curses but just swallows the words instead.

“Look, I don’t care who’s fault it is or isn’t,” John says. “Let’s just go get the boy back.”

“Agreed,” Dutch nods. “Hosea, we’ll discuss this later.”

“You’re damn right we will.” Hosea sneers as he turns to get ready.

The next few minutes pass almost like an eternity. Braithwaites are a big family. Inbreds, but big. Facing them might be a challenge if they’re already expecting someone to come for the boy. Everyone is loading up their guns and their arsenal. Arthur looks down at the last fire bottle in his bag, the last one Sean made him. Arthur wants to hold onto it, as dumbs as that sounds, but he takes it anyway. Sean would want it used to burn down a rich woman’s home. Especially if he knew they had Jack.

“Mrs. Adler,” Dutch calls towards the girls’ tent. “Come here,” Sadie comes over, already grinning. She knows what Dutch want. God rest Sean’s soul, but with him dead, Dutch is a man down and Sadie’s all he’s got. “You think you can handle this?”

“Do you even gotta ask?” Sadie nods as she runs to get ready.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Abigail,” Kieran keeps his distance from the table where Abigail is sitting, Mary-Beth and Tilly wrapped around her. She can’t voice it, her throat closed and chest tight, but she genuinely didn’t blame Kieran. Hosea was right, Bill was supposed to be here. Kieran shouldn’t have had to make that decision. “I-I wish I did somethin’ earlier, I just didn’t think people were sick enough to-” He stops himself when he sees Mary-Beth shake her head. “I want to help.” He says softly.

“Thank you,” Abigail manages.

“Kieran,” Mary-Beth says. “Go ask Dutch if you can go with them. I’m sure they could use another pair of hands.”

“Would they want me to go?” Kieran frowns.

“Sure,” Arthur says from behind him, making him jump. “You know how to shoot, right?”

“I saved you at Six-Point cabin, remember?” Kieran says.

“You surprised-attacked the guy,” Arthur says. “If he had been shooting back at you, could you have made that shot?”

“I mean,” Kieran shrugs and follows Arthur to the horses. “I was in the army for a while, I know how to fight.”

“You were in the army?” Arthur scoffs.

“Oh, bullshit!” Bill barks, nearly sending Kieran ten feet in the air. “You wasn’t in the army.”

“Yes, I was!” Kieran stands his ground. “I was there nearly a year, cavalry.”

“No shit?” Lenny chuckles. “Can’t tell, just looking at you.”

“I’m still calling bullshit,” Bill sneers as he gets on his horse.

“What’s he doing?” Dutch asks Arthur, watching Kieran get on his horse.

“Comin’ with us.”

“Why?”

“Because if he stays here, one of our girls might get kidnapped next,” Javier grumbles from behind them.

“Enough,” Hosea says. “One more person blames Kieran for all this, I’ll make sure you’re in that house when we burn it down.” He huffs. “Don’t care who’s damn fault it is, we’re all fixing it.”

“We’re not really burning the house down, are we?” Charles whispers to Arthur.

“Course we are,” Hosea answers. “When we find Jack, we’re making sure this family doesn’t give us no more problems. Find Jack, kill everyone else, burn the house to the ground. Other than that, do what you want. Is that understood?”

Many of the gang nod or mutter an agreement. Charles and Kieran stay silent.

The ride wouldn’t have felt so fast if everyone wasn’t trying to keep up with Hosea and John, at the front of the pack with fire in their eyes.

Braithwaite manor is lit up from lamps inside and out. Upon approaching the house, they are stopped by 3 men. “What’chu want?” One asks.

“We’ve come for the boy.” Dutch says, “You had to know we would.”

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” The second man says.

“Oh, you will,” Hosea snarls. “You tell Catherine we’re not afraid to kill any of ya-”

“Shit!” A gunshot echoes off the wood and quickly finds its target, a man on the balcony who collapses to the ground below, rifle falling out of his hands. Kieran, gun raised, shrinks in on himself when everyone looks at him. Several members of the gang start to congratulate him on that shot, but there is hardly time for it when suddenly more shots are fired and everyone scrambles to find cover.

Hosea takes Dutch’s hand and the two of them slip into the house with John right behind them. While they do they, the gang makes quick work of the group of shooters outside, looking for anything around the house that would help with torching the place.

“Oh, hell yes!” Bill shouts when he uncovers a wagon full of large basins. He thought they had stolen the last of the moonshine to torch the Grey’s fields, but apparently the old cow had some stashed away. “Guys, start spreading this shit around,” Bill says, pulling bottles out of the wagon and handing them down the line of people who had gathered to see.

Inside, it’s not that hard to find Mrs. Braithwait, tucked into her master bedroom wardrobe. Hosea’s in the room first, followed by Dutch, who grabs Mrs. Braithwaite and drags her into the hallway, where Arthur and John are waiting.

“Why did you take his son?” Dutch asks. He means for it to sound polite- this is just the warning, after all- but instead, it comes out venomous and the Braithwaite matriarch has no problem with spitting her own venom back, both figuratively and literally. When she spits in Dutch’s face, he leans back, gasping as if he’d just been shot, and goes to lunge at her.

“Where’s the boy?” Hosea asks as Arthur pulls Dutch back.

“You bastards!” Braithwaite shrieks. “We have lived in this house for a hundred and twenty years. We never had no problems until you Yankees came in and stirred up everything!”

“Where is the boy?” Hosea repeats.

“You killed my sons.”

“Oh, I will surely kill the rest of them, unless you tell us where the boy is,” Dutch says.

“I don’t know where they took him!” Braithwaite wails.

“Oh, I doubt that,” Dutch says. “Those boys don’t breathe without your say so, you know exactly where they took him. We’ll just have to coax it out of you, won’t we?”

Most of the Braithwaite’s dispatched, the rest of the gang now walks through the house, dowsing everything they can in alcohol. Everyone was thinking the same thing as they worked in silence; They wish Sean was here. Sean would’ve loved this. He hated Catherine Braithwaite and her whole family, everything it stood for, and he loved burning rich folk’s things. This would’ve felt so much better with him here cracking jokes and babbling on about something his da said once, and not bittersweet as the silence tore through them.

There was a scream cascading down the spiral staircase as Dutch dragged the Braithwaite woman outside. The gang followed until they all stood in a circle around her.

“The boy,” Hosea’s tone was unwavering and harsh. Arthur was surprised, he had never heard Hosea so angry before, not even after Blackwater.

“You boys make sure Jack ain’t here?” Dutch says.

“We looked everywhere,” Javier shakes his head.

“My sons,” Braithwait starts with a sneer. “Gave him to Angelo Bronte, so my guess is Saint Denis.”

“Who?” John scoffs.

“Where?” Lenny says at the same time.

“Either there, or on the boat to Italy.” Braithwaite finishes, spitting towards Hosea. Hosea dodges it and brings his foot down heavily onto her arm. There is a sickening crack in the air, followed by a howl that echoes throughout the woods.

“Torch it,” Hosea says, turning to leave. A few of the boys follow him- John, Lenny, Kieran, Charles- but everyone else stands around, watching as the Braithwaite woman rolls around screaming in agony on the cobblestone driveway.

“Who has some matches to throw on this?” Bill asks. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I just need one,” Arthur says. He pulls the fire bottle from his bag. “You guys really drench the place, this will be all we need.”

“No kidding,” Javier says. He pulls out his box of matches and strikes one, lighting the fuse on the bottle. The gang treats the moment like some ritual, staying in silence as Arthur throws the bottle into a first-story window.

“No!” Mrs. Braithwaite finally makes her way to her feet, clutching her splintered arm, as the first level of her home ignites and quickly begins to spread. “You monsters!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have taken the boy,” Dutch says plainly. The gang walks back to Hosea and his group, nodding to each other. Orange light dances across their faces and Arthur knows the moonshine worked perfectly, the house is burning to the ground.

“Let’s go,” Hosea says darkly.

“What about her?” Arthur asks.

“Leave her,” Dutch says. “Let’s go. I guess we gotta find some guy named Bronte.”


	14. Author Note (Please read)

So I'm a little bit behind on Fictober. I'm not getting into it, but it's been a stressful past few days. I'm going to try to catch up by the 31st, but just know if I don't, the challenge will just continue into November, I do plan on doing all 31 days. I know not a lot of people care, but I just wanted to say it. Thanks for everyone who is enjoying the challenge and thank you for being patient while I get my shit back in order


	15. Day 14: Overgrown (Red Dead Redemption)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let's try to get some chapters out on this challenge, 2 months late.

Time is so strange. In the moment, things change little by little and you don’t notice the difference until you look back at the beginning and realize nothing is what it was before. Nature is one hell of a timepiece; it’s so good at showing the flow of time and the differences within settings. Plants grow and die and their withered corpses litter the ground, rocks erode in streams to become rivers and caverns, wildlife changes and grows and becomes extinct. 

With this being said, Jack Marston has always compared memories to flowers. When you don’t attend to them and reflect on them, they become overgrown with weeds and grass and you can’t see the beauty anymore. You just see glimpses of colors, the knowledge of what it’s supposed to look like as opposed to what it actually looks like.

When Jack’s mama died this past summer, he went through his dad’s journal- once his Uncle Arthur’s journal, he remembers. He knows that once upon a time it was more than just him, Uncle, and his folks. There were glimpses of colors and songs somewhere in his memories, he just needed to find them. Upon reading the journal, he found the burial sites of nearly a dozen people he thinks were once his family. He followed the stories told in the journal and marked out the path they took, making sure to keep track of where each grave was, and set out. Jack’s journey begins in Colter, at two rotted crosses in the snow.

He doesn’t remember Aunt Jenny or Uncle Davey. He wants to remember Davey more than anything because his mama always told him Davey was close to Arthur. He wants to remember, but he just can’t. He doesn’t remember a lot of the people whose names are written in the journal. He knows they were family, but he cannot remember faces or voices or the way they looked or what they were like. It’s heartbreaking. This was his family, gone. Forgotten. Because he couldn’t remember. The crosses marking the graves are rotted from exposure to snowy winds and cold, and it hurt Jack’s heart. As far as he could tell, he was all that was left of this family. When he wasn’t here anymore, who would come visit them? Would all these graves just sit, rotting away until there was nothing here? Would they all be lost forever?

It takes some time, but Jack finds a way to get the rotted wood out of the ground, replacing them with new wood he finds in an abandoned house. He marks them “Jenny” and “Davey and Mac” He read in the journal that Mac and Davey were brothers, but Mac’s body wasn’t recovered because of the Pinkertons, so they never got to bury him. Jack made up his mind a few weeks ago when planning this trip, when he came to Colter to mourn and remember, he would finally lay Mac to rest with his brother.

Clemen’s Point is the next place on the map. He was about 13 years old when his folks finally told him what happened to Uncle Sean. Before then, he assumed Sean disappeared like he did sometimes and got lost on his way back; it had happened before, his dad said so. He remembers a lot more about Sean than a few of the others, always sleeping or drinking or telling stories of back home. One time, Sean showed him a dead rabbit outside of camp and told him it was good luck. If only he knew what was to come. Come to think of it, Jack realizes, wasn’t that at Clemen’s Point?

Moss was on one side of the grave, growing across some rocks while others were bare. The cross bearing Sean’s name had rotted, like the ones in Colter, but instead of snow, it was the wet breeze that came off the nearby lake causing the erosion. Jack replaces this marker as well, and sets some wildflowers on the grave where the new cross meets the mound of rocks and dirt. He’s kind of glad moss grows on this grave, since it is Sean’s. His Grandpa Hosea had made a joke once that Sean sleeps so much, he’d have moss growing on him. It just seemed fitting his resting place had that moss on it.

Scarlet Meadows was near the Shady Belle house, which Jack didn’t remember at all. He’s visited the house itself twice since his dad died a few years back, but he couldn’t remember anything either time he was here. Last year, he remembered being… Somewhere away from his family, and when he came back from there, he was somewhere else. He knows that somewhere else was this house, his mama told him that, but he doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember who’s room belonged to who, or where his ma and pa slept, or where he slept. The one thing he remembers is having a party with the gang, and Uncle giving him a sip of whiskey. It was awful, tasted like a dirty sock on fire, but they never spoke of it again, especially not to his parents. It’s something he brought up years later to Uncle, who remembered exactly what he was talking about.

Whoever Kieran was, he must not have been that important, he was only in a couple of Arthur’s journal entries, and it sounded like he was a prisoner for a while, but Arthur claimed he was family at the end, saying he wishes he had saved Kieran, so Jack still went to see the grave. The field he was buried in housed the most brilliantly colored wild flowers, and it was stunning to see. Jack didn’t remember anything about Kieran at first, no matter how hard he tried. He sat there in front of the grave, reading the name over and over, for almost an hour, but he just couldn’t remember. Did people care about him?

Someone must care about him, because there are remnants of vines that have been clipped away, and a small stone headstone with the name “Kieran Duffy” written into it. Someone had been here recently and kept up with the care of this grave. Who would come out here to the middle of nowhere to do this? Well, he was in the middle of nowhere looking at this grave too, he supposed.

Upon closer inspection of the stone, a small engraving of a horse under the name suddenly causes Jack to remember something horrible. Horses, that’s right, Kieran was the one who worked with the horses… Jack’s stomach twists as he remembers a lifeless face, bloody and hollow, placed in equally bloody hands. He can hear Aunt Mary-Beth’s scream ringing in his ears, followed by gunshots; he had been screaming for his dad at some point, right? Jack sits for a minute after the revelation, wondering if he wants the image of Kieran’s corpse out of his mind again or not. He tries to remember what this corpse looked like assembled, head and eyes intact. Was he nice like Mary-Beth or was he mean like Bill? Who was he friends with in camp? He picks up one of the wild flowers from the field and lays it on top of the stone, taking his leave.

Bluewater Marsh is a nightmare to get to, but Jack sneaks his way past the locals to get to the clearing where two graves lie under a bed of flowers. While most places grow disgusting over time, this place has only gotten more beautiful. Jack nearly cried when he saw it, his grandpa’s grave thriving with new life.

He’s sad to admit he doesn’t remember a lot about Lenny. They read together, back when he was learning how to read, but that was where his involvement in the memories end. He remembers Lenny always being praised for doing a good job on missions, but he can’t remember for what. He did a few jobs with Uncle Arthur, they’re written down in his journal, but he can’t remember why Arthur would have even taken Lenny anywhere in the first place. Wasn’t Lenny super young, younger than Jack is right now? Jack feels sorry he was given an opportunity to outlive such a bright young man when he didn’t deserve it at all. What could’ve made Jack so special?

With the wildflowers overtaking much of the area, there wasn’t much cleaning for Jack to do with this grave either. Replacing rotted grave markers, chasing away vines that crept closer to the graves, and when he left the two of them alone, he wished there was more he could do.

Arthur’s journal mentions Molly’s death, but doesn’t say where they buried her. Did they even bury her? The journal mentions she was a rat. She told the Pinkertons about the bank job in Saint Denis. Bank job… That’s where Hosea and Lenny died. She got them killed? Jack didn’t believe that. He remembers Molly in a very abstract manner; she hardly ever spoke to him, but he saw her all the time causing trouble with the girls and Dutch. She didn’t like Hosea, she was so jealous that he had more of grandpa Dutch’s attention than she did, but she would never want to kill him. She could never hurt Dutch like that, But then that means the gang killed her, a member of the family, for no reason. Jack felt sick to his stomach thinking about it.

There are a few more pages in Arthur’s handwriting, but they’re scribbles of sentence fragments, desperate and illegible. When the pages start making sense again, they are in his father’s handwriting, and they are dated a few years later. The pages talk about living in Strawberry, finding Uncle and Sadie and Charles again. Beecher’s Hope, his home.

Charles buried Uncle Arthur and Grandma Susan. The graves are marked in the journal, poor sketches from his dad, but Jack manages to find Beaver Hollow and follows the map from there to Grandma Susan. He remembers her fondly; no-nonsense, but still caring and always looking to make him smile. He wishes he could remember what happened to her. Her grave is still standing, newer than the others by nearly a decade, the wood hardly rotted by the elements. He sees her name carved into the wood and moss is growing inside the crevices, creating a little biome taking the shape of her name. It’s beautiful. He brushes away old leaves before tipping his hat to her and setting off to find Arthur.

He doesn’t remember everything about Uncle Arthur, and that hurts his heart, because it’s Uncle Arthur’s choices that ensured his parents survived the downfall of the gang in 1899. Arthur was the only one who was his father’s brother in the end, after everything that happened. He remembers fishing and flower crowns and nightmares of Arthur looking like a monster, eyes red and mouth covered in blood coughing and voice broken, gasping for air. Those were just nightmares, right?

Arthur’s grave is on a mountain, facing the setting sun. His grave is beautiful, a stone cross and bible phrases carved along with his name. There are flowers everywhere and Jack’s heart swells at the sight of it all. Charles spent so much time making this grave. It had to have been hard doing it. One of Arthur’s last journal entries before the scribbles of madness spelled out a beautiful ode to their friendship, a kiss before they parted ways forever. Jack had no idea Arthur was queer, but it didn’t change how he saw his uncle.

Jack leaves a feather- something he usually keeps tucked into his hat as a tradition his father had- on top of the stone cross. He doesn’t want to leave this sacred place, doesn’t want to go back home. He wishes there was something more he could do out here, but there isn’t. If there’s anymore graves for him to see, he doesn’t know where they are.

He wishes he knew where Grandpa Dutch was, or Uncle Bill and Javier and Aunt Karen. And the journal mentioned men named Swanson and Strauss. His ma said they were all dead, but no graves are marked in the journal. Where was the rest of this family, this legacy he barely remembers?

He sets foot in Beecher’s Hope after dark, and the air is suddenly thick with silence. Jack sighs as he makes his way to the final graves he knows of, Uncle and his folks. The graves are bare except for crosses with stupid phrases like, “Gone but never forgotten” on them. It’s all a lie, they will be forgotten, just like everyone else. He’s the only one who will remember, and someday he’ll be gone, and they’ll still lay here in the ground, forgotten. What about him? No one remembers him now, either. He can be whoever he wants to be, but no one will remember who he was. He’s just as good as nameless in that case, no one remembering his past, only his present.

Maybe someone someday will stumble upon this journal and follow the same path he did, trying to find everyone. What will they do when they reach Arthur? There’s nowhere else to go, it’s not like his parent’s graves are written down.

At least not yet. There are still some blank pages in the journal he could write in.


	16. Day 15: Legend and Day 16: Wild (Red Dead Redemption)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is 2 days combined, and it's also set up to sound like someone has written an essay on the Van Der Linde gang here in 2019. Enjoy the meta of it all.

First-person P.O.V.

Field trips in public school were never fun. Trips to run-down greenhouses and vandalized Indian burial grounds litter my earliest memories of school; when I got to middle school, my class paid $2000 a person to take a week-long trip to Washington, DC and almost the whole capital was shut down due to earthquake repairs from the previous fall. I made my parents pay $2000 to take pictures of monuments from half a mile away and stay in a hotel that gave half my class lice. The only thing we were allowed to get up close to see was the Smithsonean museum and everything but one floor in one of the buildings was closed. Don’t get me started on our tour of Arlington National Cemetery. I almost got suspended because I stopped walking and held my group up. The teachers didn’t care that I was starting to have an asthma attack and looking for my inhaler, it was disgraceful to hold the group up in the middle of a nationally acclaimed cemetery, sacred land to this country.

Luckily, college was different. While we didn’t take field trips necessarily, there was one time my American History professor paid for a bus and 18 tickets to a museum in Georgia where a lot of wild west memorabilia was. My girlfriend was ecstatic because she could use what she found there for a paper she was writing in women’s studies about the suffrage movement which began in Rhodes, a part of the former Lemoyne territory.

The museum itself was in a town called Blackwater and focused on a gang of outlaws that retired in the hot spot for some time, the Van Der Linde gang. A caravan of 30 or more members, the gang was responsible for most of the chaos that erupted in the south in the late 1890s, including the Blackwater Massacre and the exodus of the Wapiti people in the fall of 1899.

The gang became more active right before the turn of the century, but the gang supposedly started in the late 1870s when one Dutch Van Der Linde and one Hosea Matthews attempted to con each other in a bar in Chicago. They then met Arthur Morgan and Susan Grimshaw, and Dutch and Susan became romantically involved. Several newspapers from the time called this group the ‘Modern day Robin Hoods’ because they rarely kept any money for themselves, just enough to escape from the law, but the rest of their earnings went to orphanages and veteran homes. They were hardly outlaws in my opinion, aside from robbing the rich. It was admirable, especially in a time period where the land was just as godless as it was lawless. To see people actually helping the less fortunate in those times would’ve been a sight, surely.

The gang grew with members such as Bill Williamson and Javier Escuella, as well as associates such as Leopold Strauss and Josiah Trelawny. They began keeping more money for themselves and even loan sharking via Strauss, seeming to forget their initial purpose. Hosea took some time away from outlaw life to marry Elizabeth “Bessie” Thompson, who died shortly after of what was speculated to be stomach cancer. Upon Hosea’s return, Dutch found himself involved with another woman, Annabell Costilo. Dutch and Hosea, nicknamed a ‘curious couple’ found John Marston and Tilly Jackson, raising them from teenagers. By 1889, there were 13 identified members. In 1892, Annabell was murdered by Colm O’Driscoll, another outlaw kingpin, and a blood feud between the two outfits began. Over the next 7 years, they met Karen Jones, Mary-Beth Gaskill, and the Callander brothers Davey and Mac.

One member of the gang who only had “Uncle” recorded as his name brought prostitute Abigail Roberts to the gang where she had John’s son at 18; John was 22 at the time.

In 1897, Dutch met an Irish woman named Molly O’Shea who fell in love with him and his promises to travel the world together, and she began followed the gang everywhere in search of adventure.

Late 1898 and early 1899 was peak glory for the gang. They lived here in Blackwater, camped outside of town like some caravan of rejects, and they tried to drain the town of their funds. During this time, the gang met Jenny Kirk, Charles Smith, Lenny Summers, Sean MacGuire, and Micah Bell.

In May 1899, Micah convinced Dutch to rob a ferry in Blackwater. Sources are unclear of the actual number of people killed in the ensuing massacre, but the number I’ve seen the most is between 20 and 40. This number also includes the 3 casualties of the Van Der Linde gang’s own Jenny and Callander brothers.

For the most part, this is where police reports from the Pinkerton Detective Agency leave off, but the exhibit itself shifts to using first-hand information from the journal of Arthur Morgan and John Marston, and the rest of the story is recounted in first-person perspectives.

Surely we all know what happened, the gang fled east instead of their initial plans to head west and over the course of the next six months, 7 other gang members died, including Hosea and Arthur. The journal was then passed onto John, who killed Micah. He was captured by the Pinkertons shortly after and was coerced into killing Javier, Bill, and Dutch before he himself was killed. This is taught in our high school history classes, after all.

What we’re not taught is what happened to the survivors, which this exhibit actually explains, too. After fleeing the gang, Leopold Strauss was tortured and killed, Reverend Orville Swanson found God again and ran a church in New York until his passing. Karen Jones drank herself to death in 1903, Tilly Jackson had 3 children and died in 1933, Mary-Beth became known as renowned author Leslie Dupont and published 11 novels, 3 poetry collections, and an autobiography before passing in 1968. Josiah Trelawny, Sadie Adler, and Charles Smith were never heard from again, but their death records are shown in the museum.

Jack Marston inherited his father’s journal after his mother’s death in 1914. He avoids the draft for WWI and marries a young woman named Marcia. They have two children before Jack is drafted for World war 2, dying in 1933.

Max Marston-Bonnes, Jack’s grandson, was born in 1991, and created this museum in 2016 to commemorate the lost cowboy era, kept alive by the journal passed down by his family. We got to meet Max on this field trip, surrounded by old photographs and mugshots of people he gets to call his family, noble and dishonorable as they were.

My girlfriend, only paying attention to the exhibits in the museum focusing on women’s right to vote and their gentle nudge towards industrialization, was shocked to see a photograph of a suffrage rally in Rhodes containing a face I would find familiar. Arthur Morgan, outlaw and right hand man of Dutch Van Der Linde, standing towards the back of the crowd with another man (Arthur’s journal in the previous room revealed this to be Beau Grey, the son of the sheriff at the time). He had apparently done a few little things like that across his time out east; donating to the construction of the Quincy Harris Memorial Hall, attending demonstrations and meetings for various causes. It’s so strange to think a man who was a killer and a criminal could do such good things.

I enjoyed this trip because I actually learned something worth learning. Following the journey of a gang, a family, in decline and actually knowing what became of all of them is an experience I’m glad I got to have. I also know now that even dishonored men like these ones were still good people, even if it didn’t look that way at some times.


End file.
